


Kingdom Come

by im_an_idjit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, M/M, knights and horses yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_an_idjit/pseuds/im_an_idjit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Dean Winchester first met the Ambassador of Aether on a cold, September day, when the latter royally kicked his ass at jousting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wood splintered. Horses cried out. People cheered.

Dean sat in front of the stables, watching from afar as Sir Gordan unhorsed another one of his opponents, earning three points. The dark-skinned man lifted his visor and waved to the excited crowd, smiling smugly.

Dean sneered. "Show-off."

"That Gordon's pretty good, Dean. He's beaten every guy he faced," came the amused voice of his squire.

"But you forget, Benny." Dean flashed a lip-splitting grin. "So have I."

Benny chuckled and returned, "Jus' don't let it get to your head."

Getting to his feet, Dean joined Benny in readying his horse. "Looking good, baby," he murmured to Impala. "You ready to kick ass?"

The black mare nickered softly, nuzzling her great, soft nose into Dean's hair. The blond ran his fingers through her fringe while Benny adjusted the straps on the saddle. Another wave of applause erupted from the stands. Dean and Benny looked to find Gordon standing in his stirrups, his arms raised in triumph. His rival remained writhing on the ground.

"What a dick," Dean concluded, eyeing Gordon with dislike.

"Yeah, he's definitely a piece of work," Benny replied. He turned to the other and nodded towards Impala. "Come on, it's your turn now."

"You know, now I _really_ want to beat him, so I can get rid of that stupid smirk." Dean untied Impala's reins from the stand. He lead her out of the stable and towards the field where Gordon was settling down in his saddle, preparing for his next joust.

_"Prince Dean Winchester of Ventoris against Sir Gordon Walker!"_

The announcer, Chuck's, words were barely audible amongst the shouts Dean received when he stepped forward with his horse. Dean locked eyes with Gordon, smirking at him cockily. While Benny assembled the lances, the Winchester mounted Impala. Dean scanned the crowd, and caught his mother's eye.

Mary beamed at him. She gave a small poke to the young man at her right and when she pointed back at Dean, Sam gave an exaggerated thumbs-up.

"Ready?" Dean's gaze broke away from the stands. He looked down to Benny who was leaning against one of the lances.

"Course I am," came the other's reply. Dean took up the lance the squire had handed to him and quickly propped it up.

Benny chuckled, stepping aside. "Good luck."

Dean exhaled slowly just as Impala scuffed her hooves against the dusty ground. His breath condensed in front of him, reminding him just how chilly the end of September could get. When the trumpet blared, he clicked his tongue and pressed against the mare's sides.

Impala took off with a small jump, her feet pounding against the ground, thundering in Dean's stomach. Lance raised perfectly so it aimed for Gordon's chest or even better, his head, Dean set his jaw, gripped the saddle tightly and prepared for the impact.

It was a clean hit. Dean's lance knocked the helmet off, while Gordon's came crashing down against the other's chest. The vibrations shook through Dean's entire body, spreading the burning pain all over. He brought Impala to a steady halt at the other side of the field, where Benny was already waiting.

"Nice hit," the squire complimented. "Think you can do it again?"

This evoked a snort from Dean who pulled up the next lance.

The second round passed somewhat weaker than the first. Sir Gordon and Dean scored one point each, both lances having struck the torso. By the third round, Impala was breathing heavily, her legs dancing beneath Dean.

"One more run, sweetheart," Dean cooed. "One more run and we'll take a break."

The mare's start was as powerful as always. She arched her neck gracefully, ears flat against her head. A piercing neigh sounded when the lances collided. Dean couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the scene unfold before him.

Gordon soared from his saddle, his lance tumbling to the ground with a clatter. One satisfactory thud and a groan later, the joust was over.

 _"The winner; Prince Dean Winchester!"_ Chuck cried out.

Dean was laughing all the way back to Benny. The other shook his head, but the grin remained firmly on his face.

"It's a good morning," Dean told him as he patted Impala's neck. "So, who's next?"

The squire didn't reply. Instead, his gaze was focused on the other side of the field. Dean followed his example, his eyebrow quirking and jaw slacking faintly at the sight in front of him.

A gleaming, dapple-grey horse strode onto the grounds, it's head lifted high and proud. A sky blue caparison was draped over its muscular body and its protective plates gleamed in the sunlight. On top sat the rider, clad in identical armor as his horse. It was so perfectly polished it almost seemed to be made of white gold. A helmet covered the rider's face, the visor already pulled down.

 _"And now, the tournament's final joust! Prince Dean Winchester of Ventoris,"_ Chuck announced, _"against Prince Castiel Angelis of Aether!"_

"Benny, who is that?" Dean asked.

"That's the youngest prince of Aether. I take it you haven't watched any of his jousts," Benny returned. When Dean shook his head, he continued, his tone grave, "He's good."

"You said the same for Walker," Dean reminded his friend.

"No, Dean. This guy is _really good_ , he unhorses at almost every first round. You have to be careful," Benny explained.

"When am I ever anything but careful?" Dean teased while Benny walked away.

To say that Prince Castiel was good turned out to be the understatement of the century. He had struck Dean's helmet in both the first and the second round, very nearly unsaddling him in the latter as well. The third round found Dean sporting a strained neck and a bruised ego.

"What's up with this guy?" he demanded as Benny prepared him for the final round.

"I told you to be careful," was all the other said, amusement evident in his voice.

Dean looked over to the other rider. He was being attended by his own squire, a blond with a smug grin and a deep V-shaped neckline. The Winchester squinted at the other Prince. During the entire joust, not once did he remove his helmet or even raise his visor.

"Dean, focus. Third round's about to start," Benny interrupted.

Dean pulled on his helmet again and alerted Impala. The poor mare seemed almost as tired as he was. "All right, baby. This is it now, we made it this far. Let's see if we can beat this asshat," he muttered into her ear.

When the trumpet was blown for the final time, Impala shook her head wildly as she took off across the field. Dean could hear her ragged breaths and feel the irregular spasms in her stomach. He focused on the horse across him, but it soon proved disastrous.

In a fit of bad luck, the sunlight glared upon Prince Castiel's armor, ricocheting at such an angle that it bounced straight into Dean's eyes. Dean flinched angrily and immediately pulled up his lance. He wouldn't risk striking blind; the lance could twist and harm one of the horses, or even his own arm. He held onto his saddle as best he could and waited for the blow. But it never came.

Dean opened his eyes as Impala suddenly stopped, and he turned in his seat. The other rider had also drawn back his lance, but the reason remained unknown to Dean. Knowing what would happen next, the Winchester sighed, handing the mare's reins to Benny while he slipped out of his saddle.

The crowd stayed silent as the princes stepped forward, each unsheathing his own sword. Everything was silent until Dean pulled his arms up and swung his sword. Castiel thrust his own blade out, perfectly defending himself. He retaliated, narrowly missing Dean's arm on account of the other dodging.

The people roared to life again as the two whirled around each other, striking and barricading and avoiding. Dean's own heavy breathing mixed in his ears with the clashing metal, his throat full of dust that had risen. He had long considered himself a good swordsman, easily beating any of his father's knights in training, but now his confidence was slowly fading. Castiel seemed to immediately recover from each blow, lashing back with equal force. For the briefest of moments, Dean was sure he would lose.

Suddenly, as Dean hit quite close to the other's neck, Castiel seemed to lean back too far and lose his balance. He fell, his head hitting the ground and helmet rolling off. Dean took the chance to lower himself and bring the hilt of his sword to Castiel's throat.

But the universe had lured Dean into a false sense of security. In a flash, Castiel took his sword up again and rolled to the side, leaving Dean bent over the ground. The former sat up and wrapped an arm around Dean's stomach, effectively flipping him over.

All of a sudden, Dean found his back against the ground, his opponent all but straddling him, and the edge of a blade at his throat. He felt his helmet get tugged off, and Dean angrily met the gaze of the man on top of him, only to be left speechless.

Cerulean eyes bore into his own, flaring with amusement. Their corners crinkled when Prince Castiel smiled shakily, still regaining his breath.

"Congratulations," he rasped in a gravelly voice. "For a moment, you almost had me."

Dean simply blinked as the young man pulled away and stood up. The Winchester was faintly aware of Benny helping him back to his feet, picking up his helmet and sheathing his sword for him. His teasing words hazily ran in and out of Dean's ears, but the prince couldn't make them out. He was still bemused by the most unusual man he had ever met.


	2. Chapter 2

"Her Royal Highness, Queen Mary!"

The guests instantly went quiet as the hostess of the dinner party stood up and cleared her throat.

"My lords and ladies," she greeted kindly. "On behalf of my family, I thank you all for participating at Ventoris' Annual Jousting Tournament. Each of you competed bravely, and now enjoy the feast, for you have deserved it."

There was a polite applause from the audience as everyone carried on with their chatter and gossip.

Castiel picked at the salad on his plate, listening to the two gentlemen beside him discuss the weather, of all things. The prince was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He never expected his final joust to be that demanding, but he couldn't quite say he was unpleasantly surprised. He focused his gaze across the table to where Prince Dean, Heir Apparent of Ventoris, sat beside his younger brother Sam. They were chuckling and muttering to each other, earning an exasperated, but fond look from their mother.

Castiel observed Dean in particular, taken by his strange green eyes and strong jaw. He was definitely the most worthy opponent he had faced these past three days.

"What are you thinking about there, Cassie?" a voice interrupted. "Or should I say, who?"

Castiel whipped around to be greeted by the smiling face of Balthazar, his squire and oldest friend.

Balthazar laughed at the prince's growing flush. "Don't worry, darling. Your secret's safe with me," he told him.

"Remind me, why do I keep you around?" Castiel questioned, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, we both know I'm only your squire til I become a full-fledged knight," Balthazar drawled smugly. "Then I'm going to overthrow Michael and take my rightful place as supreme ruler of the world."

Castiel deadpanned, "Please, don't make me your servant when you take over the kingdom."

"No promises there," the other returned, sipping his wine. He licked his lips happily, staring in front of him. "Can't wait til we get back home. This country has a terrible selection in women."

"You really are terrible, you know that?" Castiel told him.

Balthazar hummed in agreement. "What about you, hm? Looking forward to going back, sleeping in your own bed?"

Castiel nodded mutely, his thoughts instantly flying to his ill father. He wondered if he had gotten any better since they had left. His condition wasn't any good to begin with when they departed.

Balthazar, evidently reading into Castiel's silence, said softly, "Shit, I'm sorry, Cas. I wasn't thinking."

"It's fine," the prince assured him. He looked back to his plate and heaved a sigh. Now he definitely wasn't hungry.

Castiel scanned the room for his three brothers. Gabriel and Lucifer, similarly to Sam and Dean, whispered between each other, but Castiel doubted they were sharing a joke, rather plotting their next piece of mischief. He placed Michael easily. His eldest brother sat beside John, submerged in a serious discussion, judging by the look on his face. Glad to find that none of his brothers seemed to be paying much attention to him, Castiel turned to Balthazar.

"I need some fresh air," he told him.

"Should I come with you, mate?" Balthazar asked seriously.

"No, I'll be back shortly," Castiel promised, and he stood up without making too much sound. He slinked out into the hall and followed it until he came across an open balcony. It was perfect, there was no one around to bother him.

He stepped out into the frigid evening, wrapping his cloak tighter around his frame. If the weather continued like this, he would soon have to replace it with one made of fur. Castiel fiddled with the coat of arms sewn into the light blue fabric, right over his heart. The crest was golden, decorated with a white dove in flight. It reminded Castiel of the code he was taught to live by; to spread peace rather than hate.

A wave of exasperation suddenly washed over him when he heard footsteps approach him.

"Please, Balthazar, not now. I wanted to be alone," the prince called back.

"It's not Balthazar, actually. Although at least I can now sleep calmly, knowing he's doing his job properly." His brother's laugh seemed to warm the frosty night.

Casitel smiled tiredly at his eldest sibling. "Hello, Michael," he greeted quietly.

"You all right, Cas?" Michael wanted to know, placing one hand on the young man's shoulder.

"I'm just tired. Nothing a long night of sleep can't fix," Castiel insisted.

Michael chuckled, ruffling Cas' already wild hair. "I came looking for you with a purpose, actually."

Castiel tilted his head. "Yes?"

The other nodded towards the small, stone bench and took a seat. "I've been thinking about this for a while now. Almost two weeks, I believe," he explained.

Castiel nodded, prompting him to continue.

"I want to make an alliance with Ventoris."

The younger man raised his eyebrows, but nodded again. "Oh. That's good, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Michael replied. "It's a wise decision. Ventoris has a good, strong army, and they've got some of the best hunters in the world."

"Does Father know about this?" Castiel asked.

"Father's approval is the reason we're here," Michael countered. "But now I have to ask you for a giant favour, I'm afraid."

Castiel said, "You know I'd do anything for you, Michael."

Michael hummed in return. "Yes. You have too much heart, Cas."

"What do you need me to do?" Castiel finally asked.

"I need an ambassador to stay here. Just for a little while, until he can assess whether or not Ventoris will make a good ally. I would do it myself, but as Heir Apparent, they need me home in case-"

He didn't go on, but Castiel understood him perfectly.

He pretended not to hear him. "And you want me to do that?"

"God knows I can't ask Lucifer or Gabriel. We might as well kiss the alliance good bye then and there."

Castiel frowned as Michael grinned down at him. "You doubt them too much."

"And with reason," the latter returned and he patted his brother's shoulder. "What do you say? Will you be willing to do it?"

Castiel sighed. It was a big responsibility. Not only would he have to study the kingdom profusely, he would also have to remain on his best behaviour, not giving King John any reason to doubt an alliance with Aether.

"I- Yes," he stammered. "I'll do it, Michael."

"Thank you, Cas. I know it's a lot to ask." Michael's smile faltered, and Castiel heard the unspoken words loud and clear.

_"Especially with everything that's going on."_

* * *

Although Sam was four years younger, Dean often felt his brother was much more suited to be the Heir Apparent. Sam always payed attention in class, while Dean fell asleep on a daily basis (this didn't impress Robert, their teacher, in the slightest). Sam kept up appearances no matter what, but Dean let people know exactly what he thought of them, regardless of status or wealth. It was like Sam was the epitome of Prince Charming. Honestly, Dean waited for the day his father grabbed his shoulders and said, "Boy, get your shit straight."

And the very evening after the feast, he thought that day had finally come.

Both princes were requested to come to the throne room immediately after all the guests had gone. The two exchanged a small glance and a raised eye brow, but followed the order through anyway. They passed the guards in front of the great oak door and watched their parents expectantly.

Finally, John sat up and cleared his throat. "Boys, there comes a time in life when a man has to do what he has to do."

Yeah, there it goes. The title of Heir Apparent was finally switching.

"You'll understand one day, when you're kings," he assured them, unaware that only one son was actually paying attention. "Today, your mother and I have made an important decision."

Dean perked his ears, waiting for the magic words.

"We've decided to ally with the kingdom of Aether."

"Wait, what?" Dean's brow came together.

Mary and John both turned to look at their eldest.

"Ventoris will ally with Aether," John repeated. "Are you feeling all right, son?"

"M'fine," Dean replied. "Just didn't expect to hear that."

"It's a big decision, I know," John continued. "Now Sam, I need you to do something for me."

Dean turned his attention to his little brother.

"You have to go to Aether as an ambassador," their father said. "Have a look around. Make sure we're making the right decision. They'll have their own ambassador here, after all."

"OK, yeah." Sam nodded. "I can do that. When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. You'll be travelling with Michael and his men," Mary answered.

The four of them stood in silence for a moment until John announced. "Well, that's that. You boys go on now. Big day tomorrow."

Sam and Dean turned and headed for the door, but stopped halfway when Sam asked, "Hey, who's the ambassador Aether's sending?"

Dean almost choked on the yawn he was stifling when John replied, "Prince Castiel."


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel rose early the next morning, but not before he accidentally swatted Balthazar in the face when he stretched (he had received a grumpy, "Watch it, you tosser," in return, as well as a surprisingly well-aimed kick in the shin). After stepping out of his tent quietly to avoid causing any more distress, he was greeted by the fresh morning air and pinkish-orange hue of dawn. The sky was cloudless, clear of any obtrusion, it offered a perfect few of the horizon for when the sun finally began to rise.

He meandered between the tents until he found the row of hitching posts. The horses took no notice of him and neither did he of them, but soon stopped after he had found a huddle of familiar faces (or rather, snouts).

He first greeted Dawn, the strawberry roan mare which belonged to his brother, Lucifer. She nickered affectionately, happy to see someone who wasn't a complete stranger. Beside her was Gabriel's horse, a blue dun stallion named Nuntius, and beside him stood the largest horse of the party- Gladius, his coat a glistening, pristine white. He was only ever ridden by Michael.

And at the end of the lively line rested the two youngest stallions. One was seal brown and Balthazar's, and the other was Castiel's own dapple grey, Alatus.

Castiel softly clicked his tongue, giving Briton, who was currently chewing on Alatus' mane, a light push. Alatus snorted appreciatively as Cas scratched the horse's forehead.

"I don't suspect anyone's told you," the prince murmured, "but you and I aren't going home. Not yet. Michael needs us to stay a little while." After he had to push Briton away again because he was now nibbling his sleeve, Castiel continued to his horse. "It's not for very long, just two months. It won't be too terrible, will it? I know you like it here."

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw a hand reach out, untying Nuntius from his spot. The stallion immediately lunged forward, mouthing eagerly at the man's hands.

"You are too attached to that horse, Cassie," Gabriel teased his younger brother. "Here you go, you great blue brute," he snapped at the horse, but the fondness was evident in his voice. He splayed out his palm, allowing Nuntius to suck the sugar out of his hand.

Castiel smiled. "I don't think you of all people can criticize a man's affection for his horse."

"Touché," Gabriel offered. He brought Nuntius around and then added in a tone that Castiel guessed was supposed to be nonchalant, "You gonna be OK staying here by yourself?"

"I'm hardly a child anymore, Gabriel," Castiel reprimanded, moving to scratch Alatus' ears. "Although your concern is touching."

"What are we supposed to do if not constantly worry about your well being?" Castiel heard the hearty chuckle of his older brother. A pair of arms curled around his stomach and he was suddenly picked up from the ground, his back roughly pulled into Lucifer's chest.

"Let go of me!" he cried indignantly.

"Oh, but you used to love it when I picked you up, Cassie!" Lucifer returned, mock-hurt.

"I was seven years old!" the other countered. He fought against his brother's iron grip which seemed to strengthen every time he tried to move. Castiel didn't even hear Balthazar and Michael join their little group.

"Lucifer, put your brother down," Michael said sternly.

Castiel was eternally grateful once he was able to breathe again. "Thank you."

It was then that he first noticed another man beside Michael, and he wondered how he could have missed him because Sam Winchester was much taller in person than he was from afar.

"Castiel, this is Prince Sam," Michael said.

Sam extended his hand and Castiel took it, fully aware that he could rip his limb out if he wanted to. "I'm looking forward to seeing Aether," he told him.

"Have you been there before?" Castiel inquired.

Sam shook his head. "No, but I hear it's beautiful."

One of the servants shuffled forward and cleared his throat. "Pardon me, my lord," the young boy spoke to Sam.

Sam smiled apologetically to Castiel and said, "Please, excuse me. I hope you have a good stay."

"Likewise," Castiel replied before Sam left after the boy.

Balthazar leant beside his friend as the others prepared their horses. "So, when are we going up to the castle?" he inquired.

"Balthazar, you don't have to stay with me. You should go home," Castiel responded. "Besides, you're ready to be knighted. I don't have any use of you."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"And you'll be all right by yourself?"

" _Yes._ "

Balthazar looked at Michael as if seeking his approval. When the latter nodded, Balthazar briefly clapped a hand on Castiel's shoulder, climbed Briton and joined Gabriel and Lucifer, both already mounted and ready to leave.

Castiel met his eldest brother's eyes. Set on top of Gladius, his back straight, head lifted and blue cloak bearing the family's crest draped around him, Michael really looked like a king. He smiled warmly, assuring Castiel that everything would be all right.

Gabriel winked at him when Castiel offered a good bye. "See ya in two months, Cassandra," he said while Balthazar grinned widely and Lucifer sent him kisses.

Castiel watched the horses turn away and start into a canter, soon galloping out of sight. Alatus kicked excitedly at the ground as the prince pulled himself up onto the saddle, whinnying at the sudden weight. With one more look towards the red horizon, Castiel smiled. The sky had turned into a golden sheet, the Sun finally rising.

* * *

Dean was awoken by the sound of his door crashing against the stone wall. The young man sat up abruptly, reaching for the small knife on his bedside. "Dad?!" he demanded. "What the hell?!"

"Get up and get dressed, son. You're giving the prince of Aether a tour around town. He's in the courtyard, don't make him wait," was all John told him before swinging the door back again, leaving Dean agape and confused, the knife still lifted over his head.

Shaking off the last dregs of sleep from his eyes, he dragged himself out of bed, pulling on the first items of clothing he could find. By the time he stepped out into the hall, he was hopping on one leg, too busy pulling his boot onto the other one. Deciding to cut through the kitchens, he twisted around the lively cooks and servants who were too occupied with the prospect of a new day to notice him snatch a small pastry as he passed. He kicked the back door open and switched into a run all the while attempting to stuff the entire treat into his mouth. The courtyard of the castle came into vision, and he slowed down when he saw him.

Castiel stood like a statue, the reins of his horse in his hands. It was the same dapple-grey horse he rode on the day Dean had first seen him, had first looked into those gorgeous blue eyes.

Suddenly choking on his breakfast made him snap back into reality and register what his mind had thought about. He shook those thoughts away, shrugging it off as his brain playing with him due to lack of sleep.

He was about to offer a greeting when Castiel turned around on his heel, and Dean suddenly found himself under the soulful gaze again.

"Uh, hey," he greeted. "Sorry, did you wait long?"

"It was my own fault. I came unannounced," Castiel responded.

There was a somewhat awkward silence before Dean tore his eyes away from Castiel's mouth ( _It was an accident,_ he swore to himself) and said, "Shall we?"

The two first headed to the stables where Impala waited patiently in her stall.

"This is the horse you rode to the joust, is it not?" Castiel inquired as Dean helped Benny saddle the mare.

"Yeah, that's Impala," Dean replied, allowing his horse to scratch her snout against his stubble.

Castiel splayed his hand against her neck, tangling his fingers into her mane. "She's beautiful."

Dean almost flushed with pride then and there. Benny sent him a sly smile, because no one had ever taken such a liking to Dean's baby.

"So, your highness, you fond of horses?" Benny asked when it became evident that Dean wasn't about to stop grinning like an idiot.

"Yes. I come from a line of horsemen," the prince replied. "Horses are held in high esteem in my country."

Castiel stepped away from the stall as Dean mounted the black mare and as the Winchester lead her outside, he got into his own saddle as well. The two took off, away from the castle and out into the town.

They travelled at a steady pace for the most part, Dean talking about his homeland and Castiel listening intently. Dean was only taking him a little out of the town, mainly to show Ventoris' strengths and advantages. Aromatic bakeries, crackling smithies and cozy houses soon dissolved into luscious fields, golden trees and bubbling streams. Castiel seemed to be immersed in the nature, unaffected by the nipping cold of the breeze. If Dean was being completely honest, it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. It was like watching a child, and not a young man. They didn't talk much, but Dean didn't find himself caring. Castiel was more than enjoyable to look at.

They made a full circle around the pastures and after a while started heading back to town.

"We're gonna stop at the market for a bit. I'm starving," Dean told his companion as the horses made their way back behind the city walls.

Castiel nodded in acknowledgement, and willingly followed Dean into the crowd once they dismounted and tied up the horses.

They slipped in between the busy hagglers and salesmen, careful and cautious, not wanting to create a big commotion. Dean stopped by one stand to buy apples and was unfortunately recognized. The old woman's jaw slacked, but Dean put up a finger to his lips to silence her. She gave a smile and a nod, and quickly picked out the freshest and reddest apples she had. After Dean had to insist on paying (and almost had to force the money into her hand), he handed one apple to Castiel and bit into the other.

Castiel smiled in return and took a nibble, evidently oblivious to the way Dean stared at his mouth. And apparently to the quartet of giggling young girls across them.

Wait, what?

Dean did a double-take, and lo and behold, there they were, watching Castiel like a pack of hungry dogs. Dean had a sudden feeling that he hadn't felt since he was eight years old and Sam had gotten a bigger sword than he did.

No, he couldn't be, he _wasn't_. Dean Winchester was _not_ jealous. And he certainly didn't like Castiel like that.

OK, so yeah, Castiel was hot. But everyone could see that (exhibit A: the drooling animals ten feet in front of them). His hair was a mess, but in a good way, like just-got-out-of-bed-after-a-night-of-sex way. Yeah, his eyes were to die for, Dean already had established that, and _yeah_ , if he kissed that mouth Dean was pretty sure it would be softer than feathers-

Oh shit. Dean was jealous. And totally into the blue-eyed, sex-haired god of a man two inches beside him.

He was so dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The meanings of the horses' names, because I'm so witty:
> 
> Lucifer's Greek name, Heosphoros, literally translates to 'bringer of dawn', hence the name Dawn.
> 
> Nuntius is Latin for 'messenger'. Gabriel is known as the Messenger of God.
> 
> Gladius is Latin as well, and means 'sword'. This one was the result of me running out of clever ideas and settling for the first one I got after I randomly thought of 'the sword of Michael'.
> 
> Briton is self-explanatory.
> 
> And finally, Alatus is 'winged', once again Latin!


	4. Chapter 4

One morning found Dean somewhat well rested and reading in the castle's library. At least, that's what he would have been doing if Castiel had not followed him in five minutes later.

OK, so Cas wasn't following _him_ per se. He was accompanied by Robert (or just plainly Bobby), John's most trusted advisor as well as Sam and Dean's former mentor. From the bits and peices of conversation Dean had picked up, Castiel was interested in finding out more about Ventoris' history and legends. Bobby, being the oldest living being around (Dean was positive he was older than the castle itself) and therefore the wisest, had taken it upon himself to help the young prince out.

Bobby's frequent comments didn't help Dean's concentration stay put. What was even worse was Cas himself, humming deeply and throatily in understanding every time Bobby spoke. Dean had a hard time preventing himself from jumping up and grabbing Cas by the shirt and planting one on him. But that would simply freak the guy out. And totally gross Bobby out.

So there he was; draped over a divan like a cat, his boots off and feet propped up, eyes scanning Sam's letter over and over again and desperately trying to focus on the words in front of him.

_Dean,_

_My first day at Aether was great. Although the trip was both physically and mentally exhausting (the road was rocky, and I have strong suspicions that Lucifer and Gabriel are two-year-olds trapped inside young men's bodies), it was definitely worth it. The city is incredible, I wish you could see it! The houses are so perfectly structured it's almost scary, and each has a lush garden with loads of plants and flowers I've never even heard of._

_And you should see the castle. Dean, I can't even describe it. It looks like it's made of white marble, I'm not kidding. Don't even get me started on the interior. Halls decorated with gold and silver, doors made of mahogany, stained glass depicting all sorts of historical events, each a different variety of colour. It's really amazing to see. My bed's great too. I'm pretty sure it's part cloud._

Dean chuckled. Only Sammy could be such a nerd about this.

_They're taking me on a tour of the kingdom tomorrow, when we've had a good night's sleep. I'm really excited. I remember Bobby talking about how well off this place is. It's reputed to have the best wine in the world. Apparently their bread's to die for._

_But anyway, how are things at home? Are you getting on with the ambassador?_

_Well, that depends on how you look at things, Sammy,_ Dean mused. _I've recently found out I've got the hots for the dude. Would that be considered as getting along, or being overly friendly?_

Dean lifted his gaze for a moment. Bobby was nowhere to be found, and Castiel no longer stood in front of the shelves. In stead, he was seated on one of the benches, deeply immersed in his book. His lips danced quickly over the words, eyes zapping from side to side. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean decided that Cas reading was the hottest thing ever, and briefly played with the idea of the prince reading to him. It was probably the girliest thing to ever cross Dean's thoughts, which was exactly why it stayed safely in the back of his mind.

In stead, he imagined those lips working their way around his body. Placing fluttering kisses over his chest, nipping softly at the tender flesh of his collarbone. Chaste caresses trailing further and further up his neck and brushing against the stubble on his jaw. Hot breath hitting his cheek and whispered words wavering in his ear, sending shivers down his muscles and painful pulses into his heart.

No, there was no way he was doing this. There was no way his mind was fantasizing perversely, not now. Not in the freaking library, for crying out loud.

Determined to shake the thoughts of Cas' mouth away, Dean read on.

_Just be nice to him, OK? He seems like a good guy._

_I'll be writing again next week when I've seen more of the country._

_You better write back,_

_Sam_

Dean smiled, folding the letter in half and stretching his back. He stilled for a moment, contemplating what to do. After another brief glance at Castiel, Dean pulled on his boots again, pocketed Sam's letter and approached the bench. Castiel automatically lowered his book onto his lap to listen to what Dean had to say.

"Look, Cas," the Winchester told him. "You've been here since, what, Wednesday? Today's Saturday. That's four days. Four days and I know nothing about you, man. So spill."

Castiel blinked. And then replied, "What do you want to know?"

Admittedly, Dean was a little caught off-guard. He didn't expect him to give in so easily. The guy was weirdly secretive, and Dean had to go to great lengths to get him to actually talk back. "Seriously?" he asked, wondering if Cas had suddenly developed a sense of humour (albeit a pretty shitty one).

"Yes," he replied. "I admit, I haven't tried to get acquainted with you and for that I apologize. I would like to consider you my friend."

Dean's lips quirked at the honest reply. He sat down beside Cas and wasted no time. "So, what do you do for fun?"

Castiel's brow rose. "For fun?"

"Yeah. When you have time to kill, what do you do?" Dean prompted.

The other stood still as a statue. "Well, I like to read, and I like chess." he admitted, and Dean finally felt like he was getting somewhere. "I practise my Enochian with my brothers from time to time, and I often duel with them too." His eyes flashed to Dean's as he spoke, a teasing look sparking in them. "And sometimes, when I need some peace, I go out for a ride. I don't take anyone with me, I just go to clear my head."

Dean nodded, humming in agreement. "S'there anything you can't do, Cas?" he joked.

Castiel's brow furrowed before he hesitantly replied, "I've never learned archery."

Dean's lips broke into a grin.

* * *

"All right, stand here." Dean pointed to the patch of grass in front of him, right across from the target. "And take this."

Castiel obediently took the bow from the prince, the quiver already slung over his shoulder.

"Now, which is your dominant eye?" Dean asked.

"Right."

Dean placed his hands on Cas' arms and twisted him so his left shoulder was pointed towards the target. Next, he lightly kicked Castiel's feet shoulder-width apart. "This is the stance you take. As you get better, you can have your feet further apart, but I suggest you stick to this stance. You'll be twisting your body otherwise, and you might lose your balance," he explained.

"So if your right eye is the dominant one, you'll be holding your bow in your left hand and drawing the arrow with your right." Dean picked up Castiel's right arm. "This is your string hand-" He let it fall down again as he held up the other hand. "-and this is your bow hand."

"When you hold the bowstring, you hold it with your second, third and fourth finger," he said and wiggled the aforementioned digits. "When you draw the arrow, you get your hand up to your cheek. You with me so far?"

"Yes."

"All right. Show me."

Castiel did as he was told and aimed the bow, his right arm tugging on the string with the correct fingers as he did so. Once he did, Dean brought one hand onto his chest and the other between his shoulder blades.

"That's good, but push out your chest and straighten your back." He couldn't bring himself to pull away, liking the feeling Cas's steady heart beat and breaths beneath his fingers. "Now try again, this time in one fluid motion."

Again, Castiel took aim, pulled the string and breathed in deeply. Dean smiled. His stance was perfect.

Dean pulled out an arrow from the quiver on Castiel's back, gave it to the prince and explained the next part of the lesson. "You balance the tip on your bow hand, and hold the fletching with three fingers on your string hand. Your index finger is on top, the other two are underneath." He helped him fix it into place as he spoke.

"Now when you actually load a bow, you have to point in downwards. Just a little!" he added hurriedly as Castiel lowered his aim. Dean placed it into a good angle and nodded. "There. That's good." When Castiel relaxed his stance again, Dean asked, "You wanna try all together now?"

Castiel positioned the arrow head on his left hand again, all the while keeping the bow pointed downwards.

"Now draw it," Dean reminded. He received a glare from the other and immediately held his hands up in surrender, chuckling.

Castiel took a deep breath, then brought the bow up, drew back the string up to his cheek and took aim all in one motion. Dean couldn't hide the satisfaction on his face and only grinned wider when Cas' lips curled into a small smile. They tried it out a few more times until Castiel fully got the hang of it.

"All right, the last part; actually releasing the arrow," Dean announced. "Pull it up again." He adjusted Cas' right arm slightly before he spoke again. "Concentrate. Take deep breaths. Aim."

Castiel's chest rose and fell methodically, his eyes narrowing on the dead centre. The arrow lay perfectly still in his hands, never quivering for a moment.

"Fire."

The arrow zipped across the field and pierced the target in the upper left corner. Dean let out a low whistle.

"Excellent. Considering this was your first time shooting an arrow, that was great," he praised. "You sure you've never practiced archery before?"

Castiel's blue eyes met Dean's, and he smiled cheekily before taking aim again.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean blinked sleepily and yawned widely, eyes glazed and slightly out of focus. He shuffled around so his back was to the window and fixed his pillow into a better position, finally bringing up a hand over his eyes, only to notice that he had bumped it into something. It hissed back viciously and tugged at the covers.

"Stop moving and _sleep_ , Dean," came a hoarse voice.

Needless to say, the Winchester stopped dead in his tracks. His arm shot off his face and his neck twisted at breaking speed. Beside him lay a small lump, snuggled under all the dark furs and feathery blankets. A mop of dark, unruly hair peeped out from beneath the sheets.

"What the-" Dean let out a string of profanities that should definitely never be heard in church.

A pair of baby blues shot open, searching the room for any sign of intrusion or danger. They finally settled on Dean, focused and squinty. "Dean, is everything all right?"

"No, Cas! What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked, his throat tight.

An eyebrow quirked up. "I'm here to assess whether or not an alliance between our kingdoms would be wise," he spoke slowly as if Dean was an infant.

"No! Why are you in my bed?" Dean rephrased. "Oh my fuckin' God, what happened last night?"

Castiel stayed silent for a minute, then questioned hesitantly, "I do not understand. Was that a joke?"

"Man, I don't even know anymore," Dean muttered as Cas' hand slipped around his waist. "Whoa, hey! Whatcha doing there, Cas?" he asked, attempting to resurface the wandering fingers. It was pointless, the guy evidently had an iron grip.

"I'm hugging you. Or I would be, if you'd let me."

Dean gingerly brought his hand back to his chest and scratched nervously. "Sorry."

A bemused smile crossed Castiel's lips. Dean froze like a startled doe as Cas started crawling closer and closer. When their chests pressed together, he pulled himself up until he was hovering inches away from Dean's lips. "Are you always this restless in the morning?" Castiel wondered, running his fingers lazily through dirty blonde hair.

"I- Uh..." Dean trailed off, distracted by the soft movements of the other's fingers. Cas' damn hands were like magic. Stifling a soft groan in the back of his throat he croaked, "I don't know."

Castiel huffed a quiet snort. He brought his hand out of Dean's hair and cupped his chin softly but firmly. Dean's breath hitched in his throat as he felt the gentle drag of Castiel's lips against his own, and closed his eyes, just enjoying the sensation. His hands automatically stole down to the small of the other's back, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive flesh.

He suddenly became aware of his position and frowned inwardly. He was already turning into a girl, there was no denying that, but there was no way in hell that Dean Winchester was becoming a bottom. Not in this lifetime.

He gripped Cas' waist suddenly and flipped them over, a flash of bare legs appearing from underneath the covers.

"I see you're back to your demanding self," Castiel noted as Dean kissed him selfishly and fervently.

"Cas, I have no idea what went on in here last night," Dean admitted. "But... how about you help jog my memory?"

"So far you seem to be on the right track," the other rasped when Dean mouthed at his shaved jaw. Castiel nuzzled into the Winchester's temple, fingers back in his hair and jagged breaths tingling in his ear. "Dean," he purred. " _Dean_."

"Dean!"

"What?!"

The prince sat up abruptly, huffing and gasping heavily. His first reaction was to check the spot beside him. He was forced to do a double-take (fuck that, he did two of them just to be sure) when he realized he was, in fact, alone in his bed. He gaped at the figure leaning against the door frame.

"The knights are ready for you downstairs," Benny informed him with a nod out the door.

"I-" Holy shit. "Right. OK." Holy _fucking_ shit. "I'll be right down."

* * *

Castiel had been awake since dawn, but had yet to actually leave his room. For now, he was content with simply sitting behind the writing desk, nursing a chalice of cold water and nibbling on some cheese and bread.

He hadn't been sleeping properly for weeks. Ever since his father had fallen ill, he hadn't been able to stay alseep for longer than four or five hours. He was crippled with exhaustion, both physically and mentally. Constantly worrying, never once relaxing for a moment or two. He stayed guarded, always prepared so nothing would surprise him, would bring him crumbling down, broken and defeated.

But ever since he had arrived at Ventoris, things seemed better, if only a little. Dean made them better. He made the sun shine brighter, the air smell sweeter and Cas' heart feel lighter. Dean was the reason Castiel felt happier than he ever did the past few weeks.

And that thought alone brought reality crashing back onto Castiel's shoulders, for he knew that it was all a pointless daydream, an unachievable fairytale. Dean didn't feel that way about Cas, certainly not the way Castiel felt about him. So that was how he remained, prisoner to his own imagination.

The sound of swords clashing floated in through the window with the light breeze. Castiel perked up in interest and crossed the room, bending over the windowsill and letting the wind lick through his already tousled hair.

It didn't surprise him when he saw Dean already up and alert, engaged in a swordfight with one of his knights.

He watched Dean skillfully fight off his opponent, with the same fire and determination he had had when Cas himself had dueled the Winchester. Dean attacked more often than he defended, relying on his strong and heavy blows to bring down the attacker. He acted on impulse without making any strategy beforehand. Castiel used a different technique. Planning his attacks was all he ever did in a swordfight, careful to catch any of his rival's weaknesses or habits, and then use them against the other. He also preferred to block the attacks, gradually wearing out the attacker and then taking advantage when he had the upper hand.

But Dean's way seemed to work perfectly well for him. The knight was down on the ground shortly with Dean towering over him with a cheeky grin. He pulled him to his feet and with a sharp, good-natured slap on the back, let him sit down.

Dean was close with his knights. The duelists teased each other and shot back witty remarks while the others cheered them on, laughing and clapping. They messed with their hair and playfully shoved one another. Castiel smiled to himself when he remembered that these men were reputed to be the greatest warriors alive. They seemed more like children than highly-trained combatants.

Castiel pushed away from the window, settling down on the side of his bed to pull his boots on. He finished what little cheese he had left, drained his cup and left the comfort of his warm room. The narrow, winding staircase led him to the east wing of the castle, where the open halls circled around a small courtyard.

Castiel had grown fond of that particular spot. Thick moss crept up the walls, sometimes draping the arches and shutting the world out. A single oak tree had been planted there some time ago, it's thick, massive branches spreading overhead like an intricate web, ornamented with emerald and dark jade. In the cool shade sat a small bench, evenly carved from chalk-grey rock.

Not many people passed through the east hall; the guest chambers were located there, but they were all empty, for the Winchesters had no other guests than Castiel at the moment. A servant would patter through once every morning to clean Cas' room, carrying a bundle of fresh towels or clean laundry. But other than that, Castiel was left alone in the wing, save for the few guards stationed at the entrance as well as in front of his chamber.

Today, however, Castiel was greeted by a newcomer.

Queen Mary sat on the stone bench, a book in her lap and her shoes discarded. Castiel, sure she would not appreciate being interrupted, slowly backed away from whence he came. His back turned to the courtyard, he was five steps away from the stairs before he heard,

"Castiel?"

The prince tentatively turned on his heel and offered a soft, "Good morning."

Mary smiled. "I'm sorry, I've taken your seat, haven't I?" She gestured with her hand and only continued speaking when Cas sat down beside her. "I've been following you," she teased.

Castiel's lips quirked into a rare smile. "How so? I'm a rather dull person, I'm afraid."

"Just wanted to keep an eye on you, make sure you're settling in OK," she told him.

Unlike King John, the queen didn't care about formalities or keeping up appearances, and Castiel preferred it that way. John was a good man, but his unwavering diplomacy was often intimidating.

Castiel was very fond of Mary. His own mother had died when he was very young, and it was different having someone coddle him. Although his brothers had taken up to protecting and raising him, they were never as gentle as Mary was.

"I'm perfectly well. Your family has been too kind," he admitted. "I'm going to find it very difficult to leave when the time comes."

"Well, you're more than welcome to come back whenever you like," Mary said. "I miss having someone to look after. Sam and Dean never let me fuss over them anymore."

Castiel nodded. "Thank you, your Highness."

Mary clicked her tongue at him lightly. "How many times will I have to tell you to call me Mary?" She laughed and the prince offered her another smile.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll go find Dean and let you get back to your reading."

"Of course."

As he walked away, Castiel couldn't help but feel as if Mary's smile had been more meaningful than she led on. Discharging the thought as his imagination, he was greeted by a swoop of chilly wind when he stepped onto the grounds. He found Dean easily, the prince having not left the area beneath Cas' window. Most of the knights had already disbanded, and the few who had stayed behind, chattering and clearing away the weapons, send small respectful bows in Castiel's direction. Dean himself sat on the grass, attempting to free his sword of dirt.

"Hey, Cas," he greeted without meeting the other's eyes.

Castiel settled in front of him, resting on his toes. "I've watched you practice. You fight well." Dean looked up from his sword when Castiel continued, "You do, however, use reckless methods which could cost you the fight."

Dean snorted. "Tell that to all the guys who's asses I personally handed back to."

"Oh?" Castiel challenged in return. "I happen to recall one instance when it wasn't quite so."

The prince watched with satisfaction as realization struck Dean's handsome features and his jaw set determinedly. He looked Cas dead in the eye, slowly unclipped his right gauntlet and dropped it at the other's feet.

Castiel smiled bemusedly. "Are you sure this is a wise decision?"

"Hell yeah, now pick up the damn gauntlet," Dean countered with a smirk.

Cas did as he was told, taking up the discharged piece of armor before helping Dean to his feet. The latter handed him one of the spare swords and readied his own.

It was a replay of the first time they fought; Dean attacked and Castiel blocked. The Winchester's swings were heavy, heavier than they had been before and they shook Cas to his knees. It meant that Dean would tire easily, but Castiel found himself wondering once or twice whether he himself would actually last that long.

Dean's sinistral hits were weaker than his dextral ones (confirming that he was right-handed), and he tended to use both hands when swinging with his left hand, rather than using one like he did in general. Now Castiel had to wait until the opportunity presented itself.

Dean brought his sword out perpendicularly to Castiel's chest, but the latter blocked just in time. The blades met halfway and locked together, with both princes pushing down with both hands. Castiel almost got on Dean down on his knees and would have forcefully brought him to the ground of the Winchester hadn't suddenly stuck out his foot.

A sharp pain shot through Cas' shin, and before he knew it, Dean had dragged him down and slapped his back on the grass. Castiel groaned in pain as Dean hovered over him, rocking on his haunches.

"Gotcha," he chirped.

"You cheated," the other accused.

"I improvised."

The two shared a breathy laugh, content with resting on the earthy ground for a moment. Dean removed his sword from Castiel's throat and fell onto his backside.

"You are," Castiel huffed tiredly, "incredibly stubborn, Dean."

"Yeah, but that's why you like me, right?" Dean joked.

Castiel met the other's soft gaze and couldn't deny the smile sneaking onto his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

Almost a week and a half had gone by since the end of the tournament, and September had long bled into October. The days were falling away as slowly as the bright autumn leaves, the evenings turning longer and colder. Rain came and went regularly, often freezing into hail and promising the imminent arrival of the first snowfall. The castle's fireplaces rarely went unlit both day and night, while maids scuttled up and down stairways and halls with firewood, extra furs and feather-filled blankets.

Dean received letters from Sam weekly. The brat was having the time of his life in Aether. He spent most of his time with the court advisor Joshua who told him stories and legends about the kingdom. Dean was comforted knowing that, even if Sam fails to find out how strong a kingdom Aether is _today_ , at least they'd be merging with a place with some pretty badass stories from the past. Because Aether was much farther up north than Ventoris was, snow had already fallen there. According to the letters, they were having snowstorms almost every other week, the snow rising well above _Sam's_ knees, which seriously made Dean wonder just how much snow that place was getting.

Sam's letters, coupled with the impending days of winter in his own country, only reminded Dean that December was crawling nearer and nearer, and Castiel would have to go back to his home. Which just epically sucked, in Dean's opinion, because he'd grown used to having Cas around every day. The prospect of him leaving was less than desirable.

To say that Dean was pathetic would be an understatement. Saying he was sad, pining and extremely sexually-frustrated? Now that would just about hit the nail on the head.

And so, to make himself feel more like a man than a mouse (or a teenage girl, perhaps), he decided to what he did best.

"You want to go hunting?" Castiel repeated once the prince had told him.

"Yeah, why not?" Dean asked. "You've been practicing your archery for a while now, how about we take you out for a spin?"

"Dean, have you seen the weather out there?" Castiel countered, but he followed Dean into the courtyard regardless. "It's going to rain, I'm sure of it."

Dean flashed him his cheekiest grin. "Scared of getting a little wet, Cas?"

"More along the lines of ' _falling and breaking my neck when my horse slips in the mud_ '," Castiel returned in a deadpan voice.

"You worry too much, Cas." Dean mounted Impala and turned to his squire. "Ready, Benny?"

Benny was seated on his own horse, laden with Dean's crossbow. He nodded.

Dean turned to Cas and looked at him expectantly. "You comin' or stayin', Cas?"

Castiel heaved a long sigh, but swung a quiver over his shoulder and climbed into Alatus' saddle. Dean, pleased with the response, lightly kicked Impala's sides, setting her off into a trot and leading her out of the stables.

They were beyond the castle walls shortly. By the time they reached the forest, the ride had slowed down, the the horses falling into a walk. Dean rode beside Castiel while Benny stayed up front, scanning the woods for any sign of danger.

The princes spoke little, content with letting the chipper of birds fill up their comfortable silence. Dean was aware that Impala and Alatus walked closer together than strictly necessary, but whether this was the horses' fault or his own, Dean didn't know. His knee constantly brushed and bumped against Cas', and although the latter's eyes flashed between them the first few times (Dean was even sure he noticed a slight flush in his cheeks, but it could easily have been from the cold), he slowly seemed to get used to it.

Dean pressed against Impala's sides, forcing her to move forward slightly. He shot a lopsided grin at Castiel when they fell back into the same pace. He did it twice more, and the fourth time the black mare switched into a trot. The Winchester twisted in his seat and smiled teasingly at Cas, but was definitely not prepared when the latter suddenly kicked Alatus into a thundering gallop.

Dean barked out an airy, "Shit!" before following his lead.

Impala zipped past a baffled Benny, and she picked up a faster pace when the path was clear of obstacles. Alatus turned out to be lightning fast and catching up to Cas was a challenge. Air surged by Dean's ears, trees melted in and out of sight, and adrenaline pumped through his blood. After Impala managed to appear next to Alatus twice, Castiel urged his horse further and they flew forwards again. The horse and rider meandered around trees easily. Dean remembered that Aether was known for their love of horses, and he found himself wondering in Cas was raised on the back of his steed. He looked much more at home in a saddle than he did on the ground.

The white stallion was pulled into a steady trot before he came to a complete stop underneath a particularly dense roof of leaves. Dean halted beside him, aware of Impala's heavy breathing and shaky legs.

"Shit, Cas," Dean broke the silence. "I didn't think it was possible for a horse to run that fast."

Castiel huffed a breathy chuckle. "Alatus is the fastest horse in my country," he replied smugly as he rubbed the stallion's neck affectionately.

A brief silence swallowed them again while the two regained their breaths. The sound of hooves approached and they were met by the slightly amused smirk of Benny.

"My lords, I think we should move on. It will be dark soon, and we haven't caught anything yet," he informed them.

"Sorry, Benny," Dean replied before sliding out of Impala's saddle.

The squire approached the princes and did the same, switching Dean's crossbow for the mare's reins.

"Take care of the horses, OK? We won't take long," Dean told him.

Castiel stroked his horse's snout, murmuring calming words before handing him over to Benny. Alatus tended to be skittish around strangers and only really let Cas touch him (Dean learned this the hard way, and he's got the bite mark to prove it). But Benny was great with horses, so he knew exactly how to approach the situation. He had earned Alatus' trust (or at least wasn't bitten) in half a day.

Alatus didn't seem too pleased about leaving Cas' side, but the carrot Benny produced out of thin air soon calmed him.

Dean swung his crossbow over his shoulder and turned to Castiel, nodding forward with his head. The pair set off between the trees. Dean knew they had to be on the lookout now. He steadied his breathing, and sharpened his ears. Listening would serve him better than seeing; the trees were thick and he could easily be pounced long before he saw any sign of the attacker. A brief glance Cas' way proved he was thinking along the same lines.

His eyes were hooded and his lips slightly parted, a pink tongue flicking in and out absently, leaving his mouth slick. Dean gaped involuntarily and decided that if a beast killed him right now, it would definitely be Castiel's fault. Provided that he first didn't die of arousal, courtesy of Castiel's damn tongue.

If he was paying the slightest bit of attention, he would have seen Cas twist around and aim his arrow in one graceful move. Dean blinked once before hearing it as well.

There was a small shuffle in the thick bushes behind them. Castiel tread forward softly, and Dean felt a sudden pang of worry burst in his chest. His arm subconsciously reached out a little, his palm spread out towards Cas' shoulder. The other continued across as if he didn't notice Dean (and he probably didn't), stepping lightly around the fallen leaves. Dean was surprised how silently he could move.

Once he was close enough to the bush, he lowered his arrow slightly before pulling the string back. Suddenly, two things happened at once. A small groan erupted from the bush and something tumbled forwards, forcing Cas to take a step back.

Dean was about to sprint after him when Castiel struck out his arm. His pupils shrunk against the blue irises as he hissed, "Dean, run! Wolf pup!"

The Winchester stopped in his tracks, confused and surprised. He wanted to remind Cas that a wolf pup was not really a reason to run away in fear, but his voice died in his throat when he heard a thundering howl.

Because if there was a wolf pup, then there was always a mother somewhere close by.

She appeared from behind the trees, canines out for show, and claws scraping the honey-coloured leaves. The wolf stalked right in between Cas and Dean, effectively cutting one off from the other. She stormed towards Castiel, and Dean's heart clenched because _of course_ her first instinct was to eliminate the threat to her baby.

Dean wasted no time in loading his crossbow and shooting. Dean wasn't really aiming properly, he only wanted to get her attention away from Cas. The arrow sunk into her hind leg and she let out a deafening cry before spinning around to spit angrily at Dean.

But the attempt turned out pointless and Dean realized she was still going for Cas- Well, that was when he got really scared.

Internally screaming a mantra of, _shit, shit, fucking shit_ , he sprinted towards the animal, pulled out his damn sword and took a swing at the already injured leg. She turned around, limped on her hind legs and barked several times, showering Dean with a ton of foam and spit which he didn't need, thank you very much. But worrying about his hygene had to come later, because right now, he was dealing with a pissed off, rumbling mother wolf, with Cas only a few short metres away.

He glared at the wolf, daring her to take one more step towards the most important thing in his life, his brain wrapped around the bitter irony.

He swung his sword again, glad to see some blood start to seep out from the wolf's chest. Her wail echoed painfully in his head. But before Dean could act, she kicked him over and sprinted in the other direction, right towards Cas.

His heart jumped to his throat as the simultaneous yell of both man and beast pierced the air. The echo carried on between the trees, before everything turned silent. Hot tears threatened to swell up in Dean's eyes. He rasped helplessly, unable to move.

A clap of thunder forced his mind to focus. Heavy rain blinded his vision as he staggered to his feet, releasing a string of curse words when the grey lump began to move. He felt a rush of anger surge through him and he briefly considered killing both mother and pup out of spite.

He couldn't believe it. Cas was gone. He was gone, and there was nothing he could possibly do about it.

His sword was lifted over his head. Dean had a right mind to just stab the damn thing and he would have, if something odd didn't catch his eye.

The fletching of an arrow.

Stepping closer revealed the rest of the shaft and finally, the place it was embedded in- right between the wolf's eyes. And beneath the damn thing lay Cas, spread out like a starfish with his head lolling into the grass. Dean let out a sudden whoop.

Because Cas' chest was heaving, taking in deep breaths, either to calm himself or make up for the brief loss of oxygen in his lungs (having a bear drop on your lap tended to do that to a man).

"You fucker," Dean rasped after he dropped to his knees. "You _stupid_ fucker."

Castiel didn't get to grace him with a reply because Dean suddenly hauled him into a hug. Cas initially stiffened against his chest, but soon reciprocated, bringing his arms around Dean's shoulders and nuzzling into his hair.

"I told you it would rain."


	7. Chapter 7

In the past twenty-eight years of his life, Dean Winchester had been woken up in a variety of different ways: beautiful women shuffling in their sleep, windows shutting in the morning breeze (this one was a regular occurrence nowadays, but in stead of a light gust of wind, it would be a fucking thunderstorm and it wouldn't just shut, it would _shatter_ ) and weirdly erotic dreams were just a few.

But sometimes, sometimes he'd wake up completely naturally. No kicking sleepers, no banging panes. Just pure silence and peace.

Today was no such morning.

Dean had been unceremoniously woken up by his father only a handful of mornings. But each time, the king would smash the door into his wall and shout pleasantries that were way too loud for seven in the morning, and usually finished with the phrase, "It's a matter of national importance, Dean! Get up!"

Dean Winchester really hated being woken up by his father.

Rubbing his eyes and ruffling his hair, Dean meandered gracelessly to his closet, fighting off his still-sleepy state. John had said something about discussing future agreements with Aether, and generally setting up ground rules for the possible alliance. He had no idea why he had to be present; John had a more than capable council on his side. And Bobby could settle the laws single-handedly if situation called for it.

Nevertheless, Dean pulled over a fresh set of clothes, but stopped tugging on half a sock when he saw the window. He let out a sudden whoop, his socks momentarily forgotten.

Just outside, thick, fluffy chunks of snow glittered against the grey morning sky. The castle grounds were completely covered. Bits of white tumbled into trees and guards alike and cloaked the leaves and large firs. A trail leading from the castle to the village had already been established, patterned in footsteps and horseshoe prints.

By the time he got into the council hall, everyone was there. John frowned slightly at his tardiness, but Cas offered him a reserved smile, so it evened out. Dean decided to hang around by the window at the back in order to stay out of the way, and not because the spot provided a glorified view of Cas' ass every time he leaned over the table.

John's eyes briefly followed his son's movements before he turned his attention back to Castiel, who like any well-brought up prince, opted to stand while the king sat before him. "As I was saying," he said. "In the case of an attack on Ventoris, Aether must be prepared to fight alongside if necessary, and you may expect the same courtesy from us."

Castiel nodded. "It would serve as a great advantage. I agree," he replied. "I also must ask you to remove the fees when crossing the roads into your land. My people will wish to come trade and sell their goods here, and they cannot do that if they have to pay their way in every time they enter."

John stuck out his chin towards Chuck, the council's scribe, whose quill quickly raced over the paper, jotting down the new law.

"We've recently had a decrease in meat, but the farmers have just enough to make it through the winter," John told Castiel. "If Aether could send two percent of its rabbit meat yearly, we will send coal in return."

Dean knew that because of its position high up north, Aether was known to get incredibly harsh winters. The country was a flat land smothered in dense forests, so animal meat and firewood they could provide, but it meant that mines were scarce. Coal gave out much more heat that wood did, and for a country with such cold winters, that would be a big improvement.

Castiel was obviously thinking along the same lines, running his mind over the deal repeatedly. He finally agreed however, and they moved on. Dean was somewhat surprised that Cas had turned out to be such a good negotiator. For a guy who was perpetually confused and provided with a permanent stick up his ass, he actually seemed to know what he was doing. He was firm, but respectful with his requests, and never once let John corner him.

They wrapped it up about an hour after that, by which time Dean's stomach was protesting for food. Avoiding his father's eyes and the inevitable lecture that would follow ("How many times do I have to tell you to _be on time_ , Dean? This is a matter of national importance, you know!"), he slipped away from the window, making a beeline for the door. He was maybe two steps away from freedom when fingers coiled around his wrist.

His head snapped over his shoulder, ready for John's scolding, but was met by a pair of blue eyes. Castiel blinked owlishly at him, a hint of wonder etched in his features.

"Hey, Cas," Dean greeted a little more breathlessly than he would have liked. "I'm going down to the kitchens to grab some food. M'thinking to go for a ride afterwards."

"Would you object if I asked to come with you?" Castiel asked.

It took all his willpower not to grab Cas' collar and plant one on him.

None of the cooks or maids took notice of the princes when they snuck into the kitchens (Dean was about as often an occurrence as the sun outside), but some did mouth a small gasp at the sight of Castiel, because no royalty- with the exception of Dean- ever stepped foot into the kitchens. Dean did his best to not feel possessive and jealous. He grabbed a pastry with a generous dollop of honey for himself and an apple for Castiel (because the dude never ate anything but fruit- something he and Sammy had in common).

Upon seeing them exit through the back of the kitchen, Benny, who had been chatting with Garth and Ash, a pair of guards, immediately disappeared into the sables to ready the horses. By the time the two stepped inside, both horses stood on either side of the squire, saddled and nickering excitedly.

They rode slowly as they passed through the village, both to save their steeds' energy and simply because there was no rush. Children playing in the freshly fallen snow stopped to giggle and wave at their prince and his friend, and there were collective 'oohs' and 'aahs' at the sight of the horses.

Cas and Dean rode close to one another as they did the day they had gone hunting. Their knees were constantly touching, especially every time Alatus nipped playfully at Impala's ears. They didn't talk much, but when they did, it wasn't about the alliance or their kingdoms, just pointless thoughts that came to mind at the moment.

Dean was telling Cas about the time Sam was bitten by a horse when he was a kid when he noticed his companion's jaw slacken and a glimmer of a smile pass his lips. Instinctively, Dean looked ahead of him for any sign of danger, but chuckled when he realized what Castiel was looking at.

The fields were blanketed in a fresh sheet of untouched snow. Everything was bare, save for a couple of scarecrows that stood shakily on their poles, struggling under the clumps of white piled onto their hats and shabby clothes. The sun peeked out from its grey, cloudy cage, causing the snowflakes to glitter like jewels under the frail rays. Stirrups jiggled beside Dean and a swoosh soon followed as Castiel dismounted Alatus. Dean copied the other, stepping closer to him once on the ground. He smiled at the look of innocence gracing Cas' face.

"Aether's covered in frost a quarter of the year, and you're acting like you've never seen snow before," Dean teased.

"In my country, the snow is always in such an excess that it cannot be fully enjoyed. It is, unfortunately, too much of a good thing," Castiel murmured. "I will certainly miss Ventoris when I leave."

Dean frowned inwardly, exhaling sharply through his nose. "When are you leaving?"

"I'm expected home by the first days of December," the other told him.

It wasn't anything Dean didn't already know. "What if-" He stopped and looked at his feet. "What if you stayed a little longer?"

Castiel stayed silent. And then, "Would you want me to stay?"

Dean looked at him, really looked. Castiel was snuggled tightly into his cloak, the colour of it so dark it brought out the bright flush in his cheeks, nose and ears. His blue eyes stood out more than ever, electric against his pale skin and the silvery white surroundings. Something was stirring in them, something mixed between uncertainty and hope. And that was all it took.

Dean snatched the collar of Cas' cloak and smashed their mouths into a bruising kiss. It was needy and selfish and possessive, and exactly what Dean felt at the moment. In the chill, Cas' mouth was like a furnace against his. He felt hands gently stroke the nape of his neck, a sharp contrast to everything Dean was feeling. Castiel softly worked his lips apart, maneuvering into the others mouth easily and pressing his tongue lightly against Dean's. The Winchester swallowed Cas' small moan when his hands trailed further down to his waist, clawing at the soft fabric of the cloak.

"Say you'll stay," Dean growled low. "Just say you'll stay, Cas."

"Dean..." Castiel protested quietly. He pulled away from the Winchester with a soft smack, but kept their foreheads pressed together. "I have a duty to my family."

Dean nodded despite himself, because he knew Cas was right.

"But I will try. I will see what I can do," he promised.

It took all his willpower not to grab Cas and plant one on him. But now he could, so he did.


	8. Chapter 8

It had started out reasonably innocent, as things often did. Castiel had been in the library when he found a book he'd liked. Instead of staying in the library, he opted for reading outside, as it was strangely sunny and warm enough. He had no sooner settled on a bench beneath a pine tree than Dean appeared next to him. He didn't take much interest in Cas' book (it was in Latin, after all), but he seemed content enough to simply sit beside him with his back pressed against the other's arm. His head lolled back into the crook between Cas' neck and shoulder, his blond hair tickling Cas' cheek. He had leaned into it once or twice, and breathed in Dean's comforting scent.

Dean's warm presence was suddenly gone, and Castiel looked up to see the prince attempting to scale the pine tree a foot behind them. For a fleeting moment, Castiel wanted to warn him to be careful, but before he could say anything, Dean disappeared into the pine needles.

Castiel blinked at the empty air Dean once sat in, then turned his attention back to his text. He was in the middle of deciding between two translations of a homonym when a pine cone dropped on his foot. It bounced off his boot and dropped into the snow like a mace. Castiel barely spared it a second glance, writing it off as Dean's shenanigans, but eventually resurfaced from his book when one actually fell on his head.

"Dean," he called after another narrowly missed his shoulder. "Please stop. I'm tying to-"

But what he was trying to do he never told Dean, because the latter pelted him with another pine cone.

"Dean!"

There was no reply, verbal or otherwise (for example, another pine cone). Castiel warily glared at the tree on top of him, but couldn't make out more than shadows. It was covered in several thick layers of snow, making it dark and hard to see inside. A sudden crack sounded and Castiel briefly wondered whether Dean had broken bones as several more snaps followed. The branches shook roughly and pine cones came showering down, peppering Castiel's hair. Then Dean himself tumbled out and his torso jolted abruptly. Castiel watched with an unamused face as the prince hung upside down from the branches, still wincing from the sudden stop.

"You deserved that," Castiel reprimanded.

Dean nodded as he wheezed and blinked widely. "Yeah. Can you give me a hand?"

Cas rolled his eyes as if he was the most put upon person in the world, but shut his book anyway and got to his feet. "Have you broken anything?" he asked, unwilling to touch the prince lest he invoked further damage.

"Nah, maybe bruised a bit," the other replied.

Castiel met his upended gaze and gave a small sigh. Dean returned it with a wide grin, and briefly shifted to clutch onto Cas' cloak with his hands. He pulled, closing the distance between their lips. Warmth instantly sparked between them, causing Dean to nuzzle in for more. Castiel complied willingly, cradling Dean's head for a better angle, his nose scratching against the stubble.

"We should get you out of that tree," Castiel suggested after pulling back, and didn't wait for Dean to respond. He climbed onto the bench and began prodding and poking at the spot in which Dean's feet were lodged.

"Cas, wait. I think I can-"

With a sharp yelp, Dean landed face first into the (thankfully) thick snow. Castiel hopped off the bench and knelt beside him.

"My knight in shining armor," Dean muttered as he swept snow out of his hair.

"Well, I don't know about shining," Castiel replied teasingly.

"Oh, trust me. It's shining."

Their chuckles mingled in the still air, smiles mirroring each other. Dean cupped Cas' cheek with one hand and Castiel leaned in again.

In stead of a kiss however, he was greeted with a fistful of snow. Sputtering, he glared at the prince who had sprung to his feet. Dean grinned cheekily at him before ducking from the returned attack.

"Missed!" he sang. When he realized Cas was piling more snow into his hands, he ran for cover behind the pine, but was too slow and received a snowball to the back of his head. He hissed, feeling it slip down his shirt.

"OK, now it's on."

His snowball missed Cas, hitting one of the library windows with a splat. Castiel's didn't miss however and only fueled his attack further.

It was a long and arduous fight. Not only did Cas have brilliant aim, he was also lithe and quick which made him pretty hard to hit.

It then occured to Dean that he never heard Castiel laugh so much. There was an ever-present grin on his lips and his eyes sparked with excitement, the same electric blue as the day Dean had kissed him. By the end, both were drenched in snow and covered in frost, panting heavily through their mouths.

Dean took the chance to corner Cas, and before the prince could escape, Dean grabbed the back of his cloak and tugged hard.

"Dean! Dean, no!" Castiel yelled while trying to scramble away. He actually managed to slip out of Dean's grasp, but only made it a few feet before the other tackled his to the ground. Castiel hissed in pain, both from the snow Dean shoved down his shirt and the rock now embedded in his shoulder blade. "Dean, get off!"

Dean rolled on top of him in response. "Kiss me," he demanded, pouting.

Castiel squirmed again. "No."

Dean pressed down more. "C'mon, you know you want to."

Castiel gasped in pain, but grabbed Dean's jaw roughly and left a small peck against his mouth. In return, Dean rolled over and splayed out beside him. The two rasped for breath for a while, watching their gasps condense above them. Dean nudged the other with his shoulder.

"C'mon. Let's get you dry, princess."

Castiel rolled his eyes at the jab, but didn't protest when Dean scooped him up and righted him on his feet.

* * *

The warmth inside came as a shock to Castiel's freezing body and he could feel his limbs turn into molten lead as Dean hauled him up the stairs. He was left alone in his room when Dean went to change in his own chamber. Gathering his clothes, he left to get dressed and wash up in the bathroom. By the time he stepped out, Dean was already back and resting on the plump sofa in front of the fire. He had his back against one of the armrests and his legs spread out in front of him as he inspected the book Castiel had been reading.

"Latin? You reading in Latin?" he asked.

Cas shrugged. "I finished all your other books, and you have nothing in Enochian, so I had to make do."

Dean snorted fondly and pulled his knees to his chest so Castiel could settle on the other end of the sofa. "You all right? Warm enough?"

Castiel hummed thoughtfully. "A little chilly, I suppose."

"Well, can't have that." Dean wrapped his fingers around Cas' wrists and pulled him closer, shifting his legs so the other could fall in between them. Their chests came to the same height, pressed together comfortably.

Their mouths slotted together again like it was the most natural thing in the world. Castiel's hands trailed up Dean's neck and into his hair, fingers flexing around the strands and tugging lightly. Dean groaned low in his throat as he tugged up the hem of Cas' shirt, and pinched at his sides. This elicted a mute gasp from Castiel and Dean seized the chance to deepen the kiss. Their tongues twined together, and Dean still tasted the crisp snow in Cas' mouth. He licked along the roof of his mouth and sucked at his lower lip, enjoying every moan that vibrated in his mouth.

He left one chaste kiss in the corner of Cas' mouth before moving on to graze his teeth against his jaw. He ran his tongue against the forming stubble as Castiel hummed Dean's name softly. The kisses continued down his neck until Dean's fingers pulled the whole of Cas' shirt down enough to expose his collarbone. The other arched his neck, giving Dean more space to work in. His teeth ran along the clavicle, nipping at it until the skin turned an irritated shade of red.

Dean wanted, needed him closer. His hands trailed downwards, one rubbing circles into the small of his back, and the other playing with the waistband of Cas' pants, experimentally tugging it down to see how far he would let him go. Castiel suddenly reached out behind and took both of Dean's hands into his own. Their lips hovered apart at a painfully close proximity as their breaths melded together. Castiel didn't look Dean in the eye, determinedly staring at his stomach.

And like that, Dean understood. He nodded absently and pulling him in again, but this time brought his head to his chest. Castiel's breathing slowed down noticeably, his fingers twining between Dean's more comfortably. Dean rested his chin on Cas' head, soothingly brushing his fingers up and down the other's back.

Dean felt like a damn teenager again, but right then, there, looking at Castiel nuzzle into his chest, it was worth it.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel's morning was riddled with more meetings with John and his council. They were becoming more and more regular with the final decision inching closer. There hadn't been a spoken approval yet, but with November passing so quickly and things going so well, there was little room left to doubt.

Castiel longed for his brothers. Two months apart was far too much time. But more than anything, he wanted to stay with Dean. He still hadn't come up with a plausible excuse to stay longer. Telling Michael he needed more time before making his decision would be unwise: Michael might read into the stalling wrongly and decide against the alliance. Castiel couldn't risk being that selfish. He often toyed with the idea of telling his brother the truth, but he always ended up discarding it, albeit halfheartedly.

The snowfall was back full force, so Castiel intended to make the most of the evening by finishing his book. He would have done it too, if it weren't for one single distraction. A distraction named Dean Winchester.

Castiel's legs were curled up to his chest, book balanced on his knees, as he listened to the soft crackle of the fire. It was slowly dying out, and he was going to add more wood (just after he finished the chapter) when the door creaked open. He looked over his shoulder at the young serving boy who had scuttled in, a large silver tray wobbling in his hands. And just against the doorframe stood Dean, grinning at him mischievously.

"Hey, Cas," he greeted. "I've told my parents you're not feeling well enough to come down and eat, so we brought you some food up."

Castiel blinked as the boy started setting the table not far from the sofa. "But, I feel fine."

"That's just the fever talkin', Cas," Dean mock-assured him.

The young servant tucked the massive tray beneath his arm and marched back to Dean. The Winchester dropped three silver pieces into his tiny hand and ruffled his hair good-naturedly. After the door closed behind him, Dean crossed the room and sat down at the table. He spared Cas a single glance before picking out some of the honeyed ham.

"You gonna come and eat, Cas?" he inquired.

"I... Yes," Castiel answered tentatively as he stood up. "Why have you told the king and queen I'm unwell?" he asked when he sat down.

"I wanted to have you for myself, sue me."

Castiel smiled and took up some of the pork. There was a few minutes' silence as they ate, until Cas spoke up. "Michael wrote to me."

Dean nodded. "Sammy's been sending me letters too. Says he's having a good time."

"Yes, Michael says my brothers enjoy his company, although whether he was being sarcastic, I'm unsure," Castiel said. "I know how it is with my two brothers, Lucifer and Gabriel. They're a handful, especially if Balthazar's thrown into the mix."

"Don't worry. Sam's a big boy, he can take care of himself." Dean chuckled. "What else does Michael say?"

"Their meetings don't differ much from ours. Everyone's excited about the alliance," Castiel responded. "He wants to know how things are here. I... I haven't replied yet." When he looked up, he was surprised to find Dean's eyes already on him. "I don't know how to reply," he told him.

Dean seemed to catch on to the subtext of his words. "Just tell the truth, Cas. Tell him what's been going on at this end... and then we'll figure the rest out later."

Castiel's lips quirked sadly. "It sounds much easier when you say it."

Dean grinned crookedly before he continued eating.

If there was one thing Castiel learned during his stay here, it was that the Winchester men were messy eaters. Admittedly, he hadn't spent much time with Sam, but from what he remembered of the feast, the younger son took after his mother when it came to table manners, however little that may have been. But John and Dean were a whole other story, particularly Dean. He focused on enjoying the food rather than actually chewing it, which in hindsight Castiel supposed was more important, in the end.

He chuckled once Dean set his cup down, making the Winchester quirk an eye brow.

"You've got honey on your face," Castiel informed him.

Dean's wiped the corner of his lip with his napkin, but only smeared the honey more.

"No-" Castiel briefly licked the tip of his thumb and reached out to cup Dean's cheek with his other hand. He gently wiped off the remaining sweet nectar.

He pressed a small kiss on the Winchester's lips before moving to pull away, but Dean caught his wrist. They looked at their entwined hands for a moment, then Cas looked up. Dean's lip was caught between his teeth, green irises thin rings around the pupils. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but held his tongue instead.

Castiel locked their lips together, this time harder and more demanding, and he could feel Dean completely let go of whatever was holding him back. The Winchester manuevered them up and away from the table, towards Castiel's bed.

For a moment, Dean considered moving to his own room. His bed was larger than Cas', but he was pretty sure if they left now they'd only make it halfway, and he'd end up fucking Castiel into the wall instead.

Clothes were discarded by the time the back of Cas' knees hit the edge of the bed. Dean blindly found the back of the other's thighs and pulled him up and into his chest. As Cas wrapped his legs around Dean's waist, the latter managed to drag both of them to the top of the bed before dropping Cas and stopping.

The furs on the bed were whiter than Cas' pale skin, and they melded around him so that they brought out those damn eyes of his. He looked perfect, like an angel. And then there was Dean, with his tanned skin, peppered with scars and freckles, a complete opposite compared to Cas. He suddenly felt as if he was intruding.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice brought him out of his reverie. He was looking up at him tentatively, body flushed pink from nerves and arousal.

Their lips smashed into contact again, Dean pressed roughly against Castiel, their bodies burning together, a sharp difference from the nipping cold of the room. The Winchester took a moment to savour the feeling of Castiel's body beneath him, his muscles flexing and his heart hammering in his chest. A smile crept onto his face as Cas' lips peppered him with feathery kisses. He stilled when he felt the drag of tongue against his cheek, and looked up bemusedly.

"You had some honey left," Castiel explained, only half-apologetic.

"sure," Dean responded, trailing his mouth down Cas' neck, teeth scraping lightly against his skin. He licked at the crook between his neck and shoulder, and mouthed sloppy, wet kisses into his chest. Cas' pleased purrs hummed in Dean's ears as a sleepy smile played on his lips. Dean moved lower and lower, tongue and teeth swiping over the creamy stretch of Castiel's stomach and the sharp jut of his hip.

Suddenly, his lips disappeared. Castiel lifted his head off the pillow and met Dean's gaze. His green eyes seemed steady, but pleading at the same time. Their eyes stayed locked on each other for what felt like an eternity, before Cas prodded Dean with his foot and lay back onto his pillow.

That was all Dean needed. He gently pushed Cas' knees apart, took hold of his hips and pulled their bodies closer together. He timed his thrusts slowly as he ran his hands up and down Cas' sides soothingly, keeping a wary eye on him just in case. His body was screaming at him to move faster, to find more friction. Instead, he occupied himself with Castiel's mouth. A small whine sounded from Cas when their lips met, his fingers cupping Dean's cheeks and finally twining into his hair. He rolled his hips to meet Dean's thrust and as a result, breathed Dean's name roughly.

It was enough to snap Dean's control in half. He growled low in the back of his throat, kisses suddenly needy and selfish. He pushed further until there was no more space in between them, neither able to breathe properly. Their bodies rocked together rhythmically, heat and friction sparking between them. Castiel was rasping Dean's name repeatedly, when a husky moan broke out, and all Dean could think about was wanting to hear that sound again.

In a flash, he untangled Cas's legs from around his waist and raised them over his shoulders. As his movements turned more erratic, he leaned over as far as he could, and kissed Cas deeply, their tongues dragging together. Castiel's lips slipped from his when his head lolled backwards, blue eyes snapping shut. A broken groan escaped from his throat as he came between their stomachs.

What little control Dean might have had left was shoved over the edge after that. He half-heartedly attempted to muffle his moan into Cas' neck, and was left heaving in his warm scent. He weighed the pros and cons of staying like that forever, but tiredly pulled out when Cas started shivering.

After bringing up the- barely- still usable furs to Castiel's neck, he rolled out of bed to put in a few more logs into the fireplace. When he stumbled back under the blankets, he leaned over to leave lazy kisses on Cas' cheek and jaw.

They fell asleep like that, limbs tangled and lips inches apart, with the fire crackling softly in the midnight darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel woke up nuzzled into snug furs, his limbs wrapped around Dean's warm body. After peeking over the Winchester's head to look out the window, he realized he'd slept in. Slowly and carefully, he untangled his legs from Dean's and pulled out his hand from underneath his back. He was about to flip his feet over the bed when an arm slithered around his waist.

"Where're you going?" Dean demanded sleepily.

"I have to get up. I've overslept as it is," Castiel murmured in reply.

The bed creaked as Dean sat up, rubbing his face tiredly and groaning. He squinted under the morning glare of the sun. Shuffling around, he manuevered the arm around Cas further up to his chest and hid his face in the back of the other's neck.

"Dean, I have to get up," Castiel reminded.

"What are you _doing_ today, man?" Dean asked, and Castiel was positive he was pouting.

"I have to speak to your father," Cas explained. "I've made up my mind."

He could feel Dean grinning against his skin. "And what's the verdict?"

Castiel hummed a chuckle and looked over his shoulder. "What about you? What have you got planned for today?"

"Well, for starters," Dean said, "I was hoping to get a repeat of last night."

Castiel barely managed to utter a halfhearted refusal before Dean pulled him backwards. Needless to say, Castiel got up a half-hour later than he'd planned.

Stumbling out of bed, he searched for the closest piece of clothing, which turned out to be his shirt.

"Dean, you should get dressed," he suggested to the prince in bed, "I have to find a maid to prepare the bath."

"Why?"

Castiel assumed he had referred to the first part of his sentence. "You can't be naked in front of your servants."

Dean shrugged. "They've found me in worse circumstances."

Sure enough, when the maid waddled in, she barely spared Dean a second glance. "Good morning, your Highness," she called as she disappeared into the bathroom.

"Morning, Missouri," Dean returned.

"What are you still doin' in bed? Half the kingdom's already up," she reprimanded.

Dean grinned at Cas. "I... got distracted."

Missouri replied with a very amused, "Hmpf!" She returned from the bathroom and smiled warmly at Castiel. "All done, your Highness."

Castiel offered a polite, "Thank you."

"Missouri, could you get someone to bring up breakfast?" Dean asked as the maid turned the knob of the door.

"What time should I send it up?" she asked.

After a shared look with Cas, Dean said, "In about half an hour?"

Missouri nodded and left. Castiel pushed away from the wall he'd leaned against, heading for his closet and pulling out some fresh clothes. He heard shuffling from the bed before shutting the bathroom door behind him.

The hot water was a relief to his body, dirty and sore and covered in hickeys. The back of his head pressed against the rim of the bath tub, he sighed in content. A flask of shampoo sat on the ground beside him. He picked it up, poured out a small amount and rubbed it into his hair.

The door creaked open. Castiel assumed that one of the servants brought fresh towels, but was caught by surprise when he felt a push against his shoulders. Instantly, he scooted to the front of the tub, almost going under in the process.

Dean dropped his feet into the water and slipped in behind Cas, sitting the same way he previously had in the bed. He massaged the other's scalp softly, making the shampoo bubble profusely. As he moved to wash his arm with a cloth, Dean mouthed slack kisses against Cas' neck.

"Dean?"

The Winchester hummed to show he was listening.

"Have you ever though of leaving Ventoris?" Castiel asked.

"Like where?" Dean mumbled against his skin.

"To Aether." He added after a pause, "With me."

The warmth of Dean's lips disappeared. "Cas, you know that I would, but I can't. I'm the Heir Apparent. Stayin' here's kinda in the job description," he reminded.

Castiel sighed dejectedly, but nodded, and said nothing more.

After making sure Cas was thoroughly cleaned, Dean rubbed his thigh. "C'mon," he said, "you're done."

Instead of getting out, Castiel twisted around so that he straddled Dean's lap. He took up the shampoo bottle and applied some of the liquid into the Winchester's hair, careful to spread it down to the nape of his neck and behind the ears. He watched Dean's eyes slip closed as he massaged the bubbles into his scalp, and felt a pair of hands grip his waist protectively, thumbs working soothing circles over his hipbones. When he finished, he picked up the cloth Dean had discarded on the side of the tub and scrubbed his chest in gentle strokes.

Neither spoke while Cas cleaned. Dean had dozed off again, and the other was content to simply listen to his soft snores. Once he was done, he pressed a soft kiss on Dean's forehead and murmured a reminder about breakfast.

A silver tray stacked with cheeses, bread and warm milk already sat on the table when they emerged from the bathroom. The two sat down and started to eat.

After glancing out the window, Dean asked, "You think anyone will miss us if we go for another ride today?"

"I'll have to write to Michael after I see your father," Castiel responded, "but afterwards, I see no reason why not. It's a nice enough day."

"There's this open field Sammy and I used to go to as kids. We played in the snow until we were soaked to our bones." Dean laughed. "What do you say? You up for a little rematch?"

"If you're willing to get beaten again, then yes," Cas teased.

"Hey, _I_ beat _you!_ " Dean insisted. "I tackled you to the ground, remember?"

Castiel didn't get to make a retort because a knock sounded from the door. The prince looked over his shoulder while the other raised an eyebrow. Castiel set down his piece of cheese and stood from his chair. When he opened the door, he was greeted by one of the castle's servants.

"This just arrived for you, your Highness," he told him, holding up a small envelope.

"Who brought it?" Castiel asked as he took the piece of paper.

"A rider from the north," the other replied.

Castiel inspected the envelope. In the melted seal was pressed a crest that bore a bird in flight. "What colour was the rider's cape?"

"Blue, sire. There was a crest too, with a white bird, like a dove."

It was a messenger from Aether, one of his own men. The message was from home.

"Thank you," Castiel said before closing the door.

"Who's it from?" Dean wanted to know when Castiel returned into vision.

Castiel picked up a letter opener from the table. "One of my brothers. Michael, I believe, if I remember the handwriting correctly."

Dean watched as Cas' eyes zipped from one end of the paper to the other. It only took him a second to realize the prince was reading it over several times. Castiel's face was an impassive mask, his eyes emotionless and lips a tight line. Dean was about to stand and approach him when he suddenly looked up from the letter.

His features remained expressionless, and Dean's heart stumbled.

"Cas," his voice wavered ever so slightly.

There was a silence, then Castiel finally spoke.

"My father," he whispered. "He's dead."


	11. Chapter 11

Neither Dean nor Castiel spoke as they made their way down the wide hall, towards the grand oak door, the king and queen a few short steps behind them. A servant had been sent after John and Mary and another to Benny the second after Cas had read the letter. At the top of the stairs leading into the courtyard, the prince of Aether turned to the king.

"I apologize for having to leave sooner. Believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to see this alliance form." His voice was coarse, tired.

"It will," John assured him. "And you have no need to apologize to me."  
They grasped each other's wrist as a farewell, and Castiel bowed to Mary before starting down the stairs. Dean left his mother's side and followed suit, easily falling into step with Cas.

"You sure about not taking any guards with you?" Dean asked as the two approached the centre of the courtyard.

"I will travel faster if I ride alone. Alatus will outrun any danger if necessary," the other assured him.

Dean stared at his emotionless face helplessly. "Cas-" He stopped, knowing his next words would be nothing but pure selfishness. "When will I see you again?"

He swore he saw Castiel's breath hitch. "I… I don't know," came Castiel's soft reply. "My brothers and I will have to arrange a funeral… Then there's the matter of Michael's coronation."

Dean nodded, not wanting to listen anymore. He tried to speak, but it was as if someone gripped his throat and stubbornly held on to it. Instead, he extended his arm.

Castiel barely spared it a second glance before grabbing Dean's cloak and pulling him closer. He brought their mouths together gently, savoring the feeling of Dean's soft lips, his warm breath against his cheek, their noses rubbing slightly. Dean's arm constricted around Cas' waist tightly until the latter was flush against his chest, and his mouth pushed roughly, demanding more from the last kiss they'd have in a while.

At the sound of hooves clapping against the cobbled ground, Castiel slipped out of Dean's arms and looked over his horse. The dapple-grey steed nickered softly and mouthed at the prince's hair when Benny brought him to a halt. Without wasting much time, Castiel settled into the saddle as Dean ran his fingers through Alatus' mane. Blue eyes met green, and for the first time since he had received the news, Cas smiled.

"Stay safe," Dean told him.

Castiel nodded, Alatus already starting to back up. He raised his gloved hand in salute to John and Mary while he kicked Alatus' sides, tugging the reins back and to the left. Dean took a step back, locking eyes with Cas once more, before the horse reared up slightly, turned around, and took off with a jump.

The sky was blanketed with only a few thinning clouds, giving the sun a chance to finally break through after several days of nonstop snowfall. A soft breeze lapped at Cas' hair, just a little chilly but refreshing at the same time. The snow-covered fields glittered all around him, twinkling like billions of tiny stars. The morning was cheerful, which only filled Castiel with bitter irony.

Alatus ran hard, his strong legs beating against the ground like thunder, bits of soil and ice shooting out from where hoof prints remained. His snorts condensed quickly, leaving barely visible trails as he galloped onwards.

Castiel's mind zipped from thought to thought. What had happened? Was it a heart attack, or had he passed away in his sleep? How were his brothers handling it? His heart clenched at the though of his eldest brother. Michael, who had to push away his grief in order to take up the crown, to stabilize his brothers as well as his people.

With Alatus carrying him and no one slowing them down, the ride did not last long. Even with the several stops he had taken to give his horse a break, Castiel entered his land after no more than eight hours. As he passed, he ignored the knights guarding the border between Aether and Ventoris. They would not have stopped him anyway, for Alatus was easily recognized as the youngest prince's horse on account of his speed.

Aether was smothered in snow, as he had predicted. Mountains of it were piled beside the road in attempt to free some sort of pathway, and branches of smaller trees bent under its weight.

He took no notice of the peasants either, their bows low as he rode through their villages. Each watched him with sullen, sympathetic eyes, banishing his doubts. They had already known.

Several times, he abandoned the road and cut through surrounding forests. He knew them from many years of wandering and exploring as a child, and still remembered well enough to form short cuts to the castle.

When he arrived at the palace walls, everything was much colder. The castle's characteristic blue flags were gone. Instead, long black drapes fluttered in the wind. Laments in Enochian, his mother tongue, could faintly be heard from inside the walls.

Castiel hadn't allowed Alatus a moment's rest until they rode over the stony bridge and beyond the metal gates. The dapple-grey stallion fell into a slow trot, then finally a walk. Both horse and rider were crippled with exhaustion, heads arched down. He saw Inias, the stable boy, sprint across the courtyard to greet him as another servant ran inside the castle to inform Michael of his arrival, Castiel assumed.

Inias caught the reins the prince had dropped when he climbed out of the saddle. A faint, "Your Highness," rang in Cas' ear, but he cut him off before he could finish.

"I require nothing else, Inias. Please, tend to my horse. That is all," he told him.

Inias nodded reluctantly and led Alatus to the stables. Castiel was left to walk alone. As he approached the stairs, realization came crashing down on him like a thunderstorm. He was finally home, and his father was dead.

The world slowed around him as he walked into the castle, feeling hollow. Inside, more black curtains were draped over the walls, cascading down to the floor. The singing was louder now, and he faintly understood the lyrics. They were in honor of his father, listing his most memorable victories, his kindness towards his people and his love for his country.

Castiel barely registered his name being shouted, instantly followed by the sound of boots pounding against stone. A flash of brown hair rushed to his side. Two hands steadied his shoulders, then one moved to lift his chin. Castiel looked up to the familiar and worn face of his brother. Gabriel's eyes were red and still wet around the edges, but the sight of his youngest brother brought a small smile to his face.

Castiel buried his face into his sibling's chest, finally releasing the tears that had been threatening to spill for over an hour. He felt like a child again, seeking the comfort of his brothers after injuring himself. He hated feeling so weak. Gasps wracked his body, shaking him uncontrollably down to his knees. He numbly felt arms wrap around his back, rubbing soothing circles into the fabric of his shirt.

"Shh, Cas. I got you," Gabriel murmured into his hair, causing his eyes to prick even more. "It's going to be OK. I promise it'll be OK."


	12. Chapter 12

For the past week, the royal family had been nothing short of a wreck, Balthazar concluded. Michael had to juggle the funeral, his coronation, his brothers' grief as well as his own all at once. Lucifer constantly remained at his side, helping in any way he could. Between the two of them, they had less than five hours of sleep under their belt. Meanwhile, Gabriel and Balthazar did their best to help Castiel. The loss of their father had hit him the hardest. The elder sons had previous experience from their mother's death, but Castiel had been just a baby when she passed away. Coupled with the entire Dean Winchester debacle, the poor bloke was fighting a losing battle.

Castiel had told Balthazar about Dean the evening he returned. Of course he had, he was his best friend, his confidant. They were as close as Cas was with his brothers.

Even without knowing about the Winchester, Balthazar could tell there was something different about Cas. He knew that his brothers would be able to tell too, and he had insisted that Cas told them, at the very least, Michael. He would be worried about his youngest, and that would just add on to the pile of things he had to take care of. Castiel had assured him he would talk to Michael in his own time. Which was, Balthazar supposed, the best he would get for the time being.

The blond mused about what the late king would say if he found out they were using lilies (the symbolism would kill him, pun unintended) while he watched Michael go about the final details of the funeral.

"We have to settle a path for the... body," Michael announced, voice tightening ever so slightly at the word.

The rest of the councilmen nodded, but Lucifer's head picked up in interest.

"What?" he asked.

Michael looked up at him in surprise. "The coffin will be taken through the village before the burial," he explained.

"No way," Lucifer retorted.

Michael sighed dejectedly. "Lucifer, the people will want to pay their respects."

"And I say no way. Why throw it out into the public? The funeral should be private," the blond snapped.

Balthazar raised his hand. "Lu, please don't-"

"Why are you always taking _the people's_ side?" Lucifer spat at Michael, ignoring his friend. "What about your family? Don't we fucking count for anything?"

"It's the right thing to do," the dark haired man replied.

"What? Letting peasants tell you how to run the country?!"

Michael whipped around. "I'm doing what a good king does!"

"But you're not king!"

A deadly silence filled the chamber. Michael and Lucifer were face to face, each daring the other to blink first.

Then Lucifer muttered, quiet and dangerous, "You shouldn't even be king."

"And what? Give the throne to _you_ instead?" Michael snorted.

"Maybe!" Lucifer countered heatedly.

Balthazar helplessly stood between the two, struggling to keep them both at an arm's distance. He reasoned with them, his voice tired, but it fell on deaf ears as Lucifer and Michael yelled until they were blue in the face.

He knew neither brother meant it. Despite the petty quarrels and the endless times Lucifer drove Michael up the wall, they loved each other. Which only served to show how great their pain was, and it made Balthazar's heart ache.

Suddenly, a new voice broke out. "Hey! _Hey!_ "

Gabriel tugged hard at Lucifer's arm, effectively pulling him away from their brother.

"Will you two stop your damn _yapping_ for two freakin' mintues?!" Gabriel demanded. His eyes flashed angrily between them. "You know what? _I'm_ gonna take the throne, and then I'm gonna put both of you in the dungeons for a little timeout like the whiny babies you are!"

Michael was about to make a retort, but at least Lucifer had the decency to look sheepish.

"Castiel is dealing with enough as it is without you biting each other's heads off." Gabriel growled. "You remember Cas, right? Our fucking angel of a brother, who's constantly keeping shit together, constantly putting everyone's happiness before his own? Has either one of you even bothered to see him since he came back?"

Michael and Lucifer sobered at the mention of their little brother.

So Gabriel had been the first to notice. It was as Balthazar guessed.

"Have you talked to him?" the blond asked.

Gabriel's eyes flickered away from his brothers. "Yeah. Yeah, I have."

"He's told you then?"

The other nodded. "Honestly, kid scared me to death with his brooding." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, a major improvement considering the entire week. "He's being ridiculous. It would be funny if it wasn't for his damn puppy eyes."

"See, that's what I thought at first-"

"OK, you hens. Mind cutting it with the gossip and explaining?" Lucifer interrupted.

Michael finally spoke up. "Where is Castiel now?"

* * *

Castiel had always liked the palace stables. He had been coming there even before he was old enough to have his own horse, let alone ride one. He enjoyed the silence and company the animals provided. He could settle in the hay and read without being disturbed, and when he was still a child, if a horse was willing, he would climb up on its back and continue his book from there.

As a young boy, he grew up watching his older brothers care for their steeds. Everything he knew about horses, he had learnt from them. Lucifer often let Cas help him groom Dawn, his mare, since Nuntius was too cheeky and would trod on your toes if you weren't careful, and Gladius only truly trusted Michael. Gabriel showed him which treats horses liked best and which spots they liked to have scratched. As for actually riding a horse, that he learnt from Michael. His eldest brother had been very patient with him, although he often said that Cas was far easier to teach than Gabriel and Lucifer had been.

He turned to the next page of his book as Alatus nuzzled his hair. Ever since he had gotten his own horse at fifteen (for that was the traditional age a young man in Aether earned his own foal to raise if he did well enough with the practise horses), Castiel made a point of sitting in front of Alatus' stall, his back pressed against the door and legs curled beneath him.

A whisp of wind howled when the door of the stables opened, and whipped against Cas' cheek. The prince assumed it was one of the servants, coming in to check on the horses. The feet in his peripheral vision walked to the horse opposite Cas, two stalls to the right. Castiel had learnt every horse's stall by heart from the amount of times he'd been there, and knew full well which horse the man was approaching.

"Careful, that is the king's horse. He does not appreciate being touched," Castiel called out.

A chuckle sounded from Gladius' stall. "Yes, I should know, seeing as I raised him."

Castiel looked up to see the face of his eldest brother. Michael soothingly dragged his hands over the white stallion's fringe, then pressed his forehead against Gladius'. He began murmuring in what Castiel faintly heard was Enochian. As he spoke to his horse, Michael's face seemed to clear of the sadness, the worry it had been carrying for the past few days. Castiel returned to his book and said nothing, deciding to let his brother relax in his horse's presence. He needed it, after everything he had had to deal with.

Castiel heard footsteps edge closer to him, until Michael sat down beside him. The elder lightly turned the cover up to read the title.

"You've read this one before," Michael concluded. "Several times."

Castiel shrugged. "It's my favourite. It lets me step into a different world and forget about the troubles around me."

Michael sighed. "Cas, talk to me. Something's bothering you." Castiel gave him a sarcastic glare worthy of Lucifer himself, and the other corrected, "I'm not talking about Father. There is something else on your mind, isn't there?"

The youngest licked his lips. "When I was in Ventoris..."

When he stopped, Michael's worry grew rapidly. "Castiel, if they did something-"

Castiel's eyes were wide like saucers. "No! Nothing like that!" he assured him.

"Then what is it?" the other persisted.

"It's Dean Winchester," Cas said softly. "I... I'm in love with him."

He met Michael's stormy eyes, his face an impassive mask. His heart stumbled in his chest as he awaited his brother's reaction. Gabriel and Balthazar had been much easier to read. His best friend had clapped him on the shoulder, while the other slapped Cas upside the head and informed him his sulking had given him a heart attack.

Suddenly, Michael threw his head back, a breathy laugh escaping through his grin. He wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and said, "Oh, I thought it was something worse!"

Castiel couldn't think of anything worse than being in love with someone who is so far away from him, but he let it go for Michael's sake.

Michael poked his brother back to reality. "Tell you what," he said, "after the funeral, and after my coronation-" His grin grew. "How about a trip to Ventoris?"


	13. Chapter 13

Dean wasn't gonna lie, it had been pretty shitty. The castle wasn't the same since Cas had left. The room down the hall was quiet (although, Cas had never made much noise to begin with). The bench in the east wing was empty, save for when Mary sat there. Alatus was no longer in the stall beside Impala when the prince visited her. Stanford, Sammy's horse, had taken his place instead.

Yeah, Sam was back. He returned the morning after Castiel had left. Came back on his own accord, not wanting to be a disturbance for the royal family, giving them some space. Michael had sent a letter to John via Sammy, stating, _I regret to inform you that His Holiness, the King of Aether has passed away. Please accept my sincerest apologies, for the alliance must be put on hold for a short time, blah, blah, blah._ The works. Basically, everything was at a standstill, and Cas wasn't coming back.

Sam constantly asked about Castiel. Dean never mentioned the prince to his little brother, which begged the question of how he found out. Dean's best bet was his mom, since he was pretty sure she had her suspicions from the start (although, her doubts were probably gone now, since Dean didn't really try to hide anything that time he publically stuck his tongue down Cas' throat before he left).

The point was, Dean didn't talk about Cas with Sam. He didn't talk about him with anyone. He didn't _want_ to talk about him. And yet, Sam kept coming up to him in hopes of cheering him up, suggesting to go to the tavern, maybe meeting a nice girl ("O- or guy. If, uh, you prefer," he had added helpfully). Several times, he offered to go hunting with him, or just simply going for a ride to clear his mind. And when all hope seemed lost, he went with the classic, "There are plenty of fish in the sea."

Which pissed Dean off, because no one compared Cas to a fish.

So like that, life went back to normal, although Dean wasn't sure what 'normal' was anymore. For the past two months, 'normal' had been Castiel. 'Normal' had been chuckling at his dry sense of humour, tracing his pale skin with his hands, kissing his full lips, shuddering under his electric blue eyes.

Yeah,'shitty' was definitely not gonna cover how Dean was feeling.

On a particularly cold, grey morning in the newly arrived January, Dean predicted it would be a bad day. His suspicions were only confirmed when the door of his bedroom flew open, rattling violently after colliding with the stony wall. John Winchester stood in the doorway, arms crossed and cloak billowing dramatically behind him.

Dean groaned, shoving his pillow over his face.

"No time for that, son," John told him as footsteps approached the bed.

"Let me guess, matter of national importance?" Dean asked, his sarcasm muffled behind his pillow.

"This is beyond national importance, Dean," John said seriously. "No, what we're dealing with certainly goes beyond that. This is _events making such history that they'll have epics and sonnets written about them_." When Dean didn't offer a reply, John sighed, exasperated. "The alliance, son! We're signing the alliance!"

That sure got Dean's attention. He sat up ramrod straight. "Cas is comin' back?"

His father rolled his eyes, but here was a smile hidden in his eyes, behind their serious demeanor. "Yes."

"When?" Dean demanded. "When are you signing it?"

"Today- Well, tonight, to be precise. We'll officially sign it in the throne room, then there's going to be a feast, and a speech at the end, of course-" John rambled.

"Dad!" Dean interrupted. John blinked at him. "I uh, I gotta get dressed."

"Damn right you do." John patted his shoulder, then exited, swinging the door behind him. It promptly slapped against the frame and tilted backwards before falling to the floor with a crash worthy of a thunderstorm.

Dean sighed. It had only been a matter of time.

* * *

The Winchester was up and out of his room in fifteen minutes. He found his brother leaning against the wall beside his now empty doorframe.

Sam shot a thumb out at the door. "Dad?"

Dean groaned, but broke into a chuckle soon after.

"So," Sammy began as they headed down the stairs.

"Sam, I swear to God, if you make one more metaphor about the sea or a green meadow or _whatever_ -"

"No!" his brother insisted. "No, I was just gonna say... you look happy."

Dean stopped and glanced at Sam, who was sporting a smug grin so wide it could split his lips. "Shut up, bitch."

"Not until you stop blushing, jerk."

Walking down the halls, Dean noticed something different. More servants were running around, at least, more than usual. They were replacing old candles draped with hardened, molten wax, with thin, elegant ones, wiping the windows until they glistened despite the sun being hidden, polishing the floors and decorative armors. Green flags and drapes bearing the Winchester crest, a grey wolf baring its teeth, were hung all around. Dean even spotted a few maids putting up blue banners with a dove.

"You, uh," Sam stammered. "You have any idea how many people are coming?"

"Well, the last time Dad made an alliance with the Harvelles, we had around a hundred people here, remember?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "Man, how's everyone gonna find space? The grounds outside are only so big."

Dean flashed him a mischievous grin. "Well, you don't have to worry about Cas. I'll take care of him."

"Dean, gross! Too much information," Sam grumbled, scowling.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to talk about him," Dean reminded him. "Let's talk."

There wasn't much to do in the castle, so around noon, the brothers went out for a ride on Impala and Stanford. Sam praised Benny, telling him that during the entire time he had spent in Aether, Stanford never looked so well kept as he did once he came home. Dean was pretty sure Benny was blushing.

They came back late in the afternoon, and when they stepped into the castle, the commotion looked even worse, if it were possible. Sam and Dean took their usual short cut through the kitchen, where cooks and maids were scattered about, stirring and chopping and slicing all at once. Upstairs was no better. Endless lines of servants carrying plates, eating untensils and goblets trailed into the dining hall, where more workers pushed around tables and benches. The boys were suddenly cornered by their old mentor.

"What are you idjits doin'?" Bobby demanded. "You're trailin' mud! Didn't you hear your old man? This one's for the history books! No one's allowed to screw up!"

The brothers looked down at their feet and exchanged sheepish looks. In a flash, one of the maids zipped past them with a wet rag. The mud stains were gone instantly. Dean slipped out of his boots, Sam following his example.

"Sorry, Bobby," Dean offered.

"Boy, if your father caught you, _then_ you'd be sorry," Bobby muttered. "Go on upstairs and get dressed, will ya?"

With their boots in hand, the two brothers slipped and slid along the sparkling hallways, barely making it to their rooms in once piece. Upon arrival, Dean was glad to see his door back on its hinge and a warm bath ready in the washroom. He cleaned up reasonably quickly and picked out the first items of clothing he found. As he tugged his shirt over his head, he heard tutting from the doorway. He spun around, head still halfway through the collar, and sighed when he saw it had just been his mother.

Mary wore her prettiest, peacock blue gown, coupled with her silver, amethyst-adorned crown. Her blonde hair curled around her shoulders in perfect waves, and her eyes glimmered amusedly at the sight of her son.

"Don't put that shirt on, honey," she told him as she approached.

"Why? It's one hundred percent clean, I promise," Dean protested, but Mary wasn't listening. She was already pushing his head back out of the shirt.

Mary rummaged through his closet and exclaimed a triumphant, "Ha! You still have it!" She held the piece of clothing beside Dean's head. When she seemed satisfied, she handed it to Dean.

"Why this one?" Dean asked, fingering the green material.

His mother smiled brightly and said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "It brings out your eyes."

Dean fought back an eye roll, but put on the shirt as Mary moved on, peeping through his drawers.

"Put these on too."

A pair of armguards were thrust into his chest. They were his fanciest ones, depicting a wolf's head welded in silver, with two amber eyes glimmering in the candlelight. He held one between his teeth as he clasped the other on.

"Ooh, can't forget this!" Mary shut the drawer behind her, hand outstretched towards her son.

Dean took his crown from his mother's hands and fiddled with it. Made of pure gold, it had rubies encrusted in the three-leaved clubs. It was smaller than his father's spiked crown, but larger than Sam's single golden band; a Heir Apparent's crown.

Mary eyed Dean's trousers, as if contemplating the quickest way to execute them. Finally, she sighed. "They can stay."

Dean exhaled in relief. "Good, cause they're my only clean pair."

Mary punched him in the shoulder playfully. She frowned slightly and brushed a smudge of dirt from his nose, then moved to fix his hair and adjust his crown. "So, you nervous?" she asked.

Dean shrugged. "Not really."

His mother chuckled knowingly as she patted his shoulders, straightening his shirt. "You Winchesters with your masculinity. Your dad was the same way the day of our wedding. Then one look at me walking down the isle, and he was shaking like a newborn calf."

Dean smiled, trying to imagine his dad terrified by something harmless like getting hitched.

"It is scary, I know, making that commitment," Mary went on wisely. "But that's what love is. Committing yourself to the person who makes you whole." She held Dean face in her hands, rubbing his cheeks with her thumbs. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his forehead and tapped his cheek softly.

They caught up with Sam at the top of the stairs and the three of them set down the hall, Mary's arms linked to each of her sons' despite their protests. They found John in the front hall, pacing and grumbling under his breath (something about having pork instead of chicken, not pork _and_ chicken), but his expression softened at the sight of his wife.

"Have they arrived?" Mary asked, releasing her sons and tucking her arm underneath John's.

Her husband nodded. "Tying down the horses," he replied.

"More or less than Ellen?"

"Less."

Mary breathed a sigh of relief. As John turned to her to complain about the food, Dean felt a jab at his side. He turned around and was greeted by Sam's mischievous smile. His baby brother nodded his head towards the open doors, providing a view across the castle grounds. In the distance, Dean could make out shadows of men and horses outlined by soft flames of torches.

"I'll cover you," he assured him. He silently clapped his brother's arm before he spun around, pointed at a wall and yelled, "Is that banner on fire?!"

The second his parents turned their backs, Dean ran beyond the oak doors and down the stairs, skipping the last three. Crossing the centre, he knew there was no time to go to Benny to ready Impala. Besides, the squire was probably down at the public stables or the hitching posts, helping out with the guests' horses. As he walked quickly, Dean's mind sped like an arrow.

Their guests camped inside the castle walls before, both when Ellen arrived and when John held his jousting tournament. His best bet was somewhere there. It wouldn't be hard, right? The royal family would probably have the largest tent.

How wrong he was.

Apparently, the royals in Aether believed in different ways of splitting money, because every fucking tent was the same size. Dean thought that Cas' would at least have the family crest on it, but that one blew up too. All of the tents had the same symbol sewn into the fabric; a dove in flight.

Dean tried several tents, but none of them were Castiel's. Most of the people either vaguely pointed him in the right direction (could have been the wrong direction too) or didn't know at all. He decided to check one more tent before heading back, settling on simply finding Cas at the feast.

He scanned the grounds, searching for a shelter to settle on. A bright red tent at the far left was the lucky winner. Dean warily opened the flap, but his stomach dropped when a blond man uninterestedly rolled his head to look at him.

"Sorry, wrong tent," Dean said atomatically.

The man drawled back lazily, "Cas is next door, lover boy."

Dean blinked twice, staring at him. Only after a longer glance did it dawn upon him that the young man was Lucifer, the second son of the late king of Aether. _And the new heir to the throne, if Michael doesn't have any kids_ , Dean added to himself.

"Uh, thanks," he stammered.

"Don't mention it," came the airy reply.

The Winchester dropped the tent's flap, and approached the midnight blue shelter three feet beside him, vaguely aware of his heart trembling in his chest. He held the opening tightly in his fist a few seconds, breathed in deeply through his nose, then pushed it to the side.

A familiar, gravelly voice called, "Did you get lost along the way, Balthazar-" The words died in Castiel's throat as he turned on his heel.

Dean subconsciously licked his lips.

Seeing Cas again was like breathing in after a deep dive. He had ditched his stubble, which was perfectly fine with Dean. He looked even better without it, if it were possible. He was dressed in rich, silky clothes, his shirt a shade of blue closely resembling the color of his tent. His crown was similar to Sam's; strips of white gold plaited into a wreath, decorated with small sapphires. It brought out his damn blue eyes.

The goblet slipped from the other's hand and the wine bled into the grass, but Dean couldn't find the time to care because he suddenly had an armful of Cas. The Winchester gripped onto Castiel tightly, one arm around his shoulder blades and the other around the small of his back. When he buried his nose into the crook of his neck, the prince's familiar scent enclosed around him, making Dean grin widely against his skin. Cas stroked the hair at the nape of his neck gently, his warm beath tickling Dean's ear. Gently, he pulled them apart, blue eyes meeting green.

Cas' lips met Dean's, and the world suddenly had colour again. Their mouths moved together hungrily, eager for more after being apart for so long. Dean licked at the seam of Cas' lips, and the other let him in easily. Their tongues melded fiercely, the sweet taste of wine still fresh in Castiel's mouth. Dean swallowed Cas' pleased sigh, tongue lapping at his full, upper lip. It scared Dean how normal it felt to have Castiel pressed up against him. He felt more alive than he ever had in the past few weeks.

"Get in there, Cassie!" came a sudden whoop.

Castiel pulled away from Dean, but kept their faces at a close proximity. "What is it, Gabriel?" he asked.

"Michael says it's time to go," his brother informed him, "but hey, if you're busy..." His eye brows raised teasingly and he grinned. When neither showed signs of moving, Gabriel added, "Come on, you'll have plenty of time after the feast. Or, you know, during it. Whatever floats your boat."

Castiel flushed, but Dean chuckled. With a smile in his direction, he took Cas' hand into his and followed Gabriel out of the tent.

* * *

The feast was long and tedious, and Dean seriously considered Gabriel's advice to ditch and fuck Cas into the nearest mattress upstairs. They sat together, side by side, and while John and Mary spoke to Michael, and Sam actually had a decent conversation with the remaining two brothers and Cas' former squire, Cas and Dean played footsie beneath the table. After they had all eaten and the entertainment took over, the Winchester pulled him closer by his waist. By the end of the evening, Cas had nuzzled into Dean's chest, fighting the urge to doze off.

When John got to his feet, Castiel sat up straight again, the chatter stopped and everyone turned to listen to the king. "With the evening coming to a close," he spoke, and Dean thanked his lucky stars, "I would like to officially proclaim the alliance between Aether and Ventoris formed. May this be but the start of a loyal bond, strengthened by friendship and trust."

Claps erupted from the tables as Michael stood and clasped John's wrist. After Mary got to her feet, everyone else was permitted to stand.

"So, I guess we'll be heading back then," Balthazar announced as he approached the two Winchester brothers and his best friend, Gabriel and Lucifer at his side. "Cas, I'm cheekily assuming you're staying here, correct?"

"I will see if the king and queen have a spare bedroom," Castiel confirmed.

"Oh, 'spare bedroom', my ass. You're lying through your teeth, bro," Gabriel countered with a grin.

Lucifer clapped Dean on the shoulder and smiled brightly. "Hurt him, and I'll mutilate your face, tear your limbs out, blah, blah, blah. You get the picture."

Castiel grimaced and Sam barked out a laugh, while Dean replied, somewhat caught off-guard, "Fair enough."

Castiel said farewell to Michael one more time before his family left back to the tents. Sam awkwardly nodded at his brother, muttering, "I'll sleep in the other wing tonight," which earned him a punch in the shoulder. When Cas came back, Dean nodded to the stairs. Everything was silent as they walked; the servants exhausted from the preparations, the guests outside sleepy from their full stomachs.

"Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, Cas," Dean prompted.

"With the alliance official now, our kingdoms will be in contact more often. Michael was thinking about keeping someone in Ventoris as an informant, to update him on what's going on every once in a while," Cas explained, to which Dean nodded. "He's asked me to do it."

Dean tripped over thin air and his heart stammered over several beats. "You- you're staying?"

Castiel smiled before replying, "If the royal family agrees."

Dean's mouth smashed into contact with Cas'. "Oh, I have a feeling they'll agree," he murmured, and they continued down the hall, where his chamber was located. Still aware of the damage his door had suffered in the morning, Dean opened it gently as he pulled Cas along by the collar of his shirt, mouths never separating.

They kissed slowly and deeply, there was no rush or nervousness like there had been the first time. Dean took his time undressing Cas, garment by garment, caressing his skin with his lips and teeth. Castiel leaned into the touch, body flushed under the attention, fingers trailing down Dean's back. Eventually, he wore nothing except the crown on his head, which Dean took carefully and ran his thumb down one of its woven strips. Its design seemed simple enough, and yet when he looked closer, he could see the complicated twists, and the delicate detail. In a way, Cas' crown represented him. He finally placed it on the table, by the mirror. His body pressed up right against Castiel's, leather and cotton grazing against heated skin. Castiel's quiet gasps filled Dean's ears as he took in his familiar scent and ran his hands down his exposed body. He traced the curve of his spine, the dent at the small of his back, the jut of his hips, wanting to remind himself of what he missed so much.

Cas seemed to have had enough of Dean's teasing, because he pushed away from his chest, removed the other's crown and got a start on the armguards. The shirt followed soon after, along with the boots and trousers. His lips latched onto Dean's neck, already working on a hickey as the Winchester took hold of the back of his thighs, fingers digging red marks into the pale flesh. Castiel wrapped his legs around Dean's waist and the Winchester sat them down on the edge of his enormous bed, content in letting Cas have his way for a while. The hot mouth nipped at his stubble, left it slick with a thin layer of saliva. He cupped Dean's cheeks and carded his fingers through his blond hair, tugging and releasing the strands. Dean hummed throatily as he rubbed Cas' waist encouragingly and rolled his hips to form a little friction. Castiel's response was more than pleasing; his lips stuttered against Dean's jaw as breathy moans vibrated low in his throat. Dean ducked his head lower and lapped down Cas' exposed neck, his flat tongue slowly working lower and lower.

"Missed this," he mumbled between the kisses he left on Cas' shoulder. "Missed you."

Cas raised his chin to press their foreheads together, their noses rubbing. His cerulean eyes bore straight into Dean's as he said, "I love you, and I never want to leave you again."

"Then you'll be stuck in this bed for a while," Dean chuckled as he sucked at Cas' bottom lip. "I love you too, Cas," he assured him, running a thumb along his cheek.

He found himself suddenly tired with the current position, so he pulled Cas further up the bed where he flipped them over. He easily fell between the other's legs and wasted no time in taking over, licking a stripe up the middle of Cas' chest and elicting a keening sound from the prince. He mouthed a hickey right over his heart, which was cheesy and ridiculous, but he had just told the guy he loved him, so he figured he'd go big or go home.

Their lips slotted together again, tongues twirling instantly, sparks setting off like wildfire. The taste of wine and honey lingered in their mouths. Castiel pushed his hips into Dean's, slowly moving the party along. The Winchester hissed at the friction, but released Cas' lips as he pulled himself up to rest on his elbows. He grabbed the pillow closest to him and tucked it beneath Cas' lower back, the latter's legs settling comfortably beside Dean's folded ones.

Dean dragged his thrusts out, in no need to move at a faster pace. Cas was there, and he wasn't leaving. They had all the time in the world. Underneath him, the other prince purred as his eyes slipped shut, lazily hitching his hips up when he had to in order to meet Dean's. It was a slow rhythm, and suited both perfectly well, giving them time to savor the moment.

Dean left chaste, teasing kisses on Cas' lips with every roll of his hips, flicking his tongue over the other's mouth every now and then. He liked the way Cas stubbornly kept his hands in the blond's hair, the way he massaged his scalp and pulled his hair. His own grip stayed possessively on Castiel's hips, the skin soft beneath his fingers. As their breathing grew rougher, Dean started planning out the angle of his thrusts more carefully. He now knew how to find the spot that made Castiel arch up into his chest, and intended to use that new-found knowledge.

Castiel began breathing a mantra of 'Dean, Dean, Dean' as he raked his fingers down the other's back, blunt nails leaving faint trails that would fade by morning. Dean pushed deeper with every move, his hands pulling Cas' hips up and down rhythmically to meet him halfway. He sunk down one more time before a broken groan wracked his body and his vision whitened, Cas' name still on his lips.

Cas rasped for breath not long after, and warmth spread between their hips and stomachs. He wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders to steady himself, his moist breaths slapping against the Winchester's cheek. Dean moved his hands on either side of Castiel's head in order to keep his body from completely flattening him. They stayed like that for a while, basking in the afterglow; eyes glazed over, lips dragging together lazily, their scents melding in the sex-filled air.

When Dean finally rolled onto his side, Cas was already in position; limbs tangled around Dean, nose buried into his chest. The Winchester cloaked them in the soft, dark furs, adjusted his hold on Castiel and hoped to the heavens above his dad wouldn't come barging in tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently opened my AO3 account, so I'm in the process of uploading my stuff from FFNet. Don't get confused when I update a story a hundred times in one day!


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